


Steps

by Camerahead12



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dancer, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Ballet Dancer Castiel (Supernatural), Ballet Dancer Dean Winchester, Dancer Castiel (Supernatural), Dancer Dean Winchester, Dean/Cas Big Bang (Supernatural), Dean/Cas Big Bang 2019 (Supernatural), Ellen and Jo are not related, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, I accidentally wrote fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, It makes sense I swear, John Winchester A+ parenting, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reporter Gabriel, Russian Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-04 03:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 70,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21190730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camerahead12/pseuds/Camerahead12
Summary: The moment he saw Dean Winchester dance Castiel knew he was lost.It wasn’t the way his muscles moved as he leapt across the floor, or even the way the sweat dripped down the man’s freckled skin. It was just simply the way he danced. The passion that bled out from the movements left him breathless and thirsty for more.And when he danced with Dean that first time, it was like falling in love.Little did he know that falling for the man would lead to questioning everything Castiel has ever stood for. As the deadline for the studios yearly performance draws closer, will Castiel be able to come up with an idea good enough to save his company? Or will it be too late to pull it away from Crowley, his money hungry investor’s hands?As everything begins to slowly fall into place, Fate (as She usually does) has other ideas. Just when life seems to be working out, not only will their trust in each other be tested, but their strength they’ve discovered within themselves starts to bend. Will they be able to hold it together before it snaps, leaving nothing but broken dreams in its place?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Holy crap it's done! 
> 
> This little story has been something I've been working on for about a year. When I first started writing, it poured out of me. I had 20k words in one night. I felt the feelings, man. The problem was, how do I make other people get the feelies, ya know?
> 
> I want to give a huge shout out to Kardboard. He convinced me I could do this thing, even when I wanted to quit. He not only helped me work out some of my beginning kinks in the story, but made sure it wasn't complete shit before I got in too deep. Thank you for putting up with my ridiculous whining and self doubt up until the very end. ^_^; 
> 
> Biggest thank you to the amazing art from DarklightDandelion! She went above and beyond with her pictures, even when she wasn't feeling the greatest! Thank you so much, chicky, you are amazing!
> 
> You can check out her master post at https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220826 
> 
> One of my amazing betas was the fantastic EllenOfOz! She took on this beast and gave it much needed love! Thank you for making sense out of this chaos and help putting it in order. 
> 
> And JenSpinner. How many rants and raves did you have to hear from me, not knowing what the hell was going on, but just accepting it and going with it? You not only helped me maintain my focus, but betaed as well, ensuring I was, in fact, not a lost cause. Thank you, love!
> 
> I would like to thank YouTube. I mean, seriously. A lot of the story idea actually came from countless HOURS of watching dance videos trying to find the "right one" to go with exactly what I wanted to happen. I think if you added up all the hours I spent searching and "testing" the waters of some videos, it would equal out to be months. Let me tell you, there are some crazy things on that black hole place. I have seeeeeennn things..
> 
> I want to thank muse and diamond for all their hard work that goes into making this whole bang happen. Thank you for putting up with us, and giving us the opportunity to partake in the challenge. You guys rock!
> 
> Lastly, thank you to all you beautiful readers. I hope you find this story to be as captivating and beautiful as I did. I had such a fun time writing it, and I can only hope you enjoy it. The dances that are inspired from a video are linked in the end notes. I HIGHLY encourage you to watch them to make sense of what I was trying to show. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. You, all of you, make my day so much better with all your comments and kudos. Seriously, you have no idea how happy I get. So without any more babbling, lets get to it! Buckle up, loves. It's going to be one hell of a ride. ^_~

The first time Dean remembers dancing was when he was four. He swears to this day it is the first real memory that he can remember.

He couldn’t tell you what song was playing on the radio, or if any song was on at all. He just remembers standing just outside the kitchen, watching his mother spin and twist around the room. Even for a four year old, Dean was able to tell the way his mother was moving was special. The way she was moving was as if her body was telling a story, and Dean was watching it unfold.

She was wearing a pale yellow apron over a white, flowing summer dress. Every time she’d spin from one counter space to the next, her dress would twist around her in such a way that simply captivated him. There was something about the way she was moving that makes Dean remember wanting to run over and wrapped his arms around her leg and never let go. For whatever reason, he stood there, watching, transfixed on his mother’s graceful movements telling some story his four-year-old mind could only compute as just “sad”.

On one of her spins, she accidentally dropped the wooden spoon she was holding. It clattered loudly to the ground, bouncing over next to Dean’s chubby, bare feet. He couldn’t even bring himself to pretend to not have been watching.

“Oh, Dean! I didn’t see you there!” Mary said breathlessly, crouching low to the ground holding out her hand. “Come here, baby.”

“Mama, what were you doing?” Dean asks taking his mother’s hand, staring up at her in wonderment.

“Dancing, honey.” She scrunches up her nose before bringing it to Dean’s, rubbing them together.

He giggles as Mary’s golden hair tickles his face. “Can I spin like you?”

“’Course you can, baby. ” Mary stands up, holding out her hand for Dean. “May I have this dance, sir?”

Dean giggles again, grabbing a hold of his mother’s hand. She balances herself on one foot, other leg stretched out long and straight behind her. Mary leans forward her with perfect balance, and kisses Dean’s hand without swaying once. She winks at him, slowly bringing her leg down, standing up tall.

Dean will always remember his mother in the kitchen in this moment. Warm, yellow sunlight flooding through the kitchen windows, making his mother’s corn silk hair appear to be glowing in some angelic light. Her smile was stretched ear to ear, eyes bright and full of so much happiness as she held his hand, helping him spin on one foot. Dean remembers thinking to himself how he always wanted to see his mother this happy.

He was seven when the fire took his mom. He remembers Sammy crying, shaking his arms with his chubby three year old hands. He remembers his mother screaming as flames licked the walls of the hallway. He had grabbed Sammy and bolted down the stairs outside. Even with the fire spreading, burning down everything Dean had ever known and loved, he hadn’t cried. He held his baby brother who clung to him like a lifeline, staring up at the only house he’d ever known, and just…waited.

The firefighters were able to get his father out with minimal burns. Dean watched as John refused any type of medical treatment, and just sat on the back of the ambulance watching his house burn as people tried in vain to stop the flames from rising. Eventually the flames were put out, and with it the light in his father’s eyes turned to ash along with everything they owned. Dean swears to this day that his father died that night in the fire.

After the fire, Dean still went to the dance classes his mother had him enrolled in. It might have been pure habit from the last three years, but honestly, it made him feel closer to her. His dad was always looking for some reason or another to get rid of him and Sammy, anyway. He didn’t mind, though. It was a haven for the both of them, and the place was a familiar comfort.

Dancing was when Dean could let everything else fade away. It was in these precious moments that nothing else mattered except him and the music pumping through his veins. This was the only real time he ever let himself go and just _ feel _.

After Mary’s death, John just ran on autopilot; dropping them off at school, giving a rare stiff hug before bed, passing them off to random neighbors in their shady apartment complex. He was silent for the most part, mind always somewhere else. A few months after Mary’s death, his dad was dropping them off at dance, and that was when John made the first few negative comments about it.

“Better not turn into a fag.” He mumbled as Dean helped Sammy down from the truck cab.

Unsure of what his dad was talking about, Dean just nodded and replied, “Yes sir.”

Over the next few months the comments ranged from, “just because you prance around in tights doesn’t give you an excuse to be a pussy,” to “better not see you wearing any makeup”. Being barely eight, the comments didn’t hurt as much as they probably should have. Still, he wasn’t an idiot. Dean knew enough without asking that his father didn’t approve of him dancing. Instead of arguing with his dad, Dean threw all his hurt and anger into his dance and found release that way.

It wasn’t until Dean was nine that he fully understood what his father had been saying to him. It was then that Dean also learned what alcohol turned his father into. After walking home from dance with Sammy, they were tired, hungry, sweaty and dusty. Dean was just about finished making Sammy a peanut butter sandwich on a stale hotdog bun when John stumbled in the front door. The man swayed, staring at them in the kitchen, as Dean set the sandwich down on the table in front of Sammy.

It happened faster than Dean could really process, really. One second his dad was by the front door and the next his cheek was stinging and he was lying on the dirty kitchen floor. Somewhere above him, his dad was yelling about how a kid from school told his dad, who told John, that Dean had kissed another boy at recess. His dad picked him up by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the refrigerator, causing old magnets to clatter to the ground.

Another strike to Dean’s opposite cheek, causing his eyes to water. It stung worse than the first one, making his ears ring loudly. He only caught bits of his dad yelling, flinching every time John’s spittle would fly from his mouth onto his face.

“I didn’t raise you to be some sort of bitch playing house!”

“Knew you’d end up being a faggot, sucking dick…”

It clicked, then, that what he had done was wrong, somehow. His friends and classmates always talked about that butterfly-in-your-stomach feeling when you liked someone. They said you’d feel nervous and happy all at the same time when you talked to them or thought about whoever it was. Why couldn’t it be another boy? When his friend had kissed him, his friends didn’t laugh or call him those names his dad always called him. Sure, they teased them about how cute they were together, but they always made sure there was space at the lunch table for the two of them to sit together. But this was the very thing his father had been telling him not to become since his mother had died. Because he liked a boy, it was wrong? No one else thought it was wrong.

When Dean glanced over to the table where Sammy sat, hoping he had enough sense to just run to his room. His little brother sat there, tears streaming down his face. He stared with wide-eyed fear right back at Dean.

John pushed him one more time into the fridge, yelling something Dean couldn’t quite make out, and stumbled across the room to the stairs. He waited until he heard his bedroom door slam closed before he fell to his knees on the floor, desperately trying to pick up the uneaten sandwich from the floor that John had stepped on.

Sammy’s wails broke him out of his pointless task, and he snapped quickly into action, trying to quiet him down. Dean carried his brother into his own room (furthest away from their dad), and shut the door, propping his desk chair underneath the doorknob just in case. Sammy lay down on Dean’s bed, eyes glued to the door, biting down on Dean’s comforter as he tried to muffle his cries. Dean got in behind him, protectively wrapping his arms around him, pulling Sam closely to him. Dean hummed "Hey Jude" (just like his mom had done for them when they cried) in his little brother’s ear, even long after Sammy’s breathing evened out. That night was the start of many where Dean would lay awake, holding his sleeping brother, eyes never leaving the door.

By twelve, Dean looked forward to the days his dad was unconscious—or better yet, just not home at all. John’s drinking had steadily gotten worse over the years. When John actually was home and halfway coherent, he took to calling Dean a “fag”, “fairy”, “dancing princess”, or “queer” instead of his actual name. To be honest, Dean wasn’t even sure if John remembered his actual name anymore. When drunk enough, he threatened to break his legs so he’d never dance again if Dean didn’t stop. Some nights he nearly did.

When he was fourteen, Sam asked Dean why he danced if it made John so mad. Dean told him stories about their mother dancing in the kitchen, the way happiness looked on her face. He explained that dancing was a way to remember Mom and be closer to her, keeping her memory alive. What he didn’t say was how happy it made him. How he felt completely free when he let his body move to the music. How he could let everything go and nothing else mattered.

Sammy had shrugged and told him he didn’t get it. Mom was dead, and he would be dead soon enough if he kept on dancing. Dean danced harder that night than he ever had before. When the music was over and he blinked out of his trance back into reality, his dance instructor’s face was streaked with tears. No one ever spoke of it again.

Sixteen brought on new challenges. John stopped bringing in any type of income, period. In between school, making sure Sammy was taken care of, and dance classes; Dean had to work to put food on the table. He managed to get a job bussing tables at a bar and grill called the Roadhouse on the outskirts of town. The owner, Ellen, didn’t mind much if Sammy occupied the corner booth, working on ridiculous amounts of homework or reading giant books every night. She even made sure to slip him a basket of fries and a burger every night Dean worked when he wasn’t looking.

At seventeen, the three Winchesters were almost permanent residents of the Wagon Wheel Inn. John was rarely there, off doing God knows what, but the boys preferred it that way. Dean’s dancing classes were solely running on scholarships. He felt terrible about it and stayed late on the nights he didn’t have to work at the bar to help clean up the studio. The instructors always joked that he could make it up when Dean hit it big and became famous.

It was one of these nights (specifically the night before recital), after cleaning off all the mirrors in every studio, that he arrived a little later than usual to their motel, room number eight. The eight always sat a little crooked on the door, which warmed Dean in an odd way at the character of the chipping red door. He had to open the door using his shoulder, only to discover the bulky TV had been thrown against it. The scent of alcohol hit Dean so strong and fast he almost threw up. Movement caught Dean’s eyes, and loud banging and shouting echoed throughout the room.

John was trying to push open the bathroom door, yelling at Sammy about grades, while his kid brother was screaming and crying trying to shut the door. It took Dean all of two seconds to cross the destroyed room and spin his dad around, pushing him away from the door.

Insults dripped out of the drunken man’s mouth like poison. Already hardened from hearing homophobic slurs from his peers and father, they bounced off Dean with no problem. Dean stood there and took it, motioning for Sam to grab whatever he could and get out. That was where he messed up, he guesses. He was trying to make sure his brother was out the door, taking his full attention off his dad.

Now, his dad always had a temper, this was no secret to anyone, least of all Dean. But he had never hit Dean in the face so hard as to make him black out before. It was quick. One minute he was glancing to make sure Sam was getting out the door okay, and the next he was laying on the dirty, brown carpet staring at John's work boots, wondering why the hell his head was screaming at him.

John began kicking him. Dean tried to curl up, throwing his arms over his head to protect his face. Over and over the kicks came, as his dad blamed him for everything. Even things that didn’t make any sense, he put it all on Dean. “This ought to toughin you up!” “No son of mine is gunna be some fuckin’ faggot!” “I didn’t raise you to be no pussy! Man up!” “Bet you blow all your dancer friends while you do your little stretches.” “Your mother would be so disappointed to see what you’ve become.” “How did I get a lousy excuse for a son who gets off on suckin’ dick and takin’ it up the ass! She raised you to be a pansy!” “You look just like her…”

The pain and words all blurred together, and eventually Dean’s arms were too numb to protect him anymore. It hurt to breathe more than he’d like to admit, but he didn’t focus on any of that. He let himself think of tinkling laughter, golden yellow hair haloed in sunlight, and a flowing summer dress.

He awoke in the hospital sometime later, only able to crack one eye open. A terrified, exhausted looking Sammy was beside him, holding too tightly to his hand. Ellen walked into his line of vision, explaining how Sam went and called her, then the police. Ellen said she got there before the police, armed with her shotgun full of rock salt she kept over the bar. By the time the police got there, John may or may not have needed medical attention before being arrested.

Saturday came with a wave of depression. Dean missed his recital due to one wrist being sprained, the other broken, a cracked kneecap (patellar fracture, the doctors called it), cracked and bruised ribs, and a broken nose. Dean wondered if he had fought back, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad and he could be dancing right now. He hadn’t told anyone, including Sammy, but there was supposed to be scouts from colleges there to see him dance. It would’ve been the ticket for him and his brother to get out of this town and away from their dad.

The only other thing to do besides trying not to focus on how badly he messed up their chances at a new life was sleep. The painkillers helped lull him there, but nightmares of his dad yelling and hitting him woke him up screaming repeatedly. Sammy was there every time, never asking questions about what Dean had seen behind his eyes. His little brother never left his side, and was there to comfort Dean every time.

After he was released from the hospital, Ellen brought the boys back to her house. She showed them a guest room with two twin beds, and told them they were welcome as long as they liked. She called them family, and promised they’d never have to see John again. She swore from this day forward they’d always be taken care of.

At eighteen, Dean had graduated, and had been accepted to Oklahoma on a dance scholarship. The summer before he left he worked at the dance studio, helping assist in teaching the younger kid dance classes and cleaning up after hours. He knew a small part of him was going to be left here; where his mom took him to dance classes, spinning in forms with him. He desperately wanted to cling to those memories, those images. But he knew going to college and advancing in dance was what she would’ve wanted.

His first year of college went by in a rush with classes, practicing, dancing, and more classes. He still managed to call and check in with Sammy and Ellen once a week. Sammy would go on and on about how he was moved up a grade and in advanced classes. Ellen would beam about his brother's achievements and praise Dean for all his success in college. Dean couldn’t help but be filled with pride at how well his baby brother was thriving with Ellen. By the end of the first year, Dean felt like a weight had been lifted, knowing that his brother was finally taken care of properly.

Summer comes and goes with Dean staying on campus, enjoying the lack of students crowding the rooms. He puts in extra time dancing, learning new and different positions and techniques. By the time sophomore year arrives, he is more relaxed, with newer dance steps and far more flexibility than he had previously. The school that had once seemed strange and large is now more or less safe and comfortable.

The summer before his junior year is when he sees it. One of his dance instructors plays a video of a moving performance by Castiel Dmitri Krushnic. Dean finds himself transfixed by the man’s movements. He leaps like he has wings, and glides over the floor as if he is floating. The man moves as if he is as fluid as water, absorbing every landing flawlessly. During the whole performance, Dean marvels at how Castiel’s muscles move over his toned body, flexing, but never strained. The whole dance piece looks effortless, despite the intricacy. 

That night Dean looks into Castiel’s history. He finds that the man was born in Boston to two Russian parents, graduated top of his class from The Ailey School at Fordham University in New York. He moved to Chicago immediately after, starting up his own dance company named Steps from nothing at twenty-three. Now, he not only instructs his own team of amazingly talented dancers, but he runs the business and is one of the most sought out choreographers to date.

The shows Castiel and his dance company put on sell out almost immediately after going on sale. The main focus is Castiel and his team of eight dancers, but the whole show features children, teens, and even some skilled adults from other classes in his company. The dances vary in different styles; from acrobatics, jazz, contemporary, tap, and ballet. He and his coworkers captivate the audience time after time, giving a bit more each performance.

Dean scours the studio's website and the internet trying to find any type of application for Castiel’s team. The only thing he ends up finding is a Google answer from some bitter dancer stating that auditions are done only if a member from his present team decides to quit, or needs to be replaced. And then, you are barely given a week’s notice to figure out a perfect, flawless routine. It is expected that you deliver this, regardless of whatever state you might be in, at whatever time and day Castiel sees fit. If it is anything less than perfect, you will be dismissed, never to be considered again.

From that moment on, Dean dives into his dancing and classes harder than ever. He learns anything and everything he can about the art, practically begging his teachers and instructors to help him learn far more complex steps and routines than the other kids are learning. He will, whenever given the opportunity, make it on Castiel’s team. Dean somehow knows that all the years of his effort and determination as suddenly for this one thing. He knows that this would make his mother proud, at least.

He wants to make Ellen proud, too. He wants to show her that all the time, money, and effort on him isn’t a complete waste, and he can actually do something with his life. Dean refuses to let his hopes to become a pipe dream. Still, regardless of how set he is on the goal, during their weekly talks, Dean never mentions Castiel. It’s bad enough waiting for something that might never come, and if it does happen that he gets to audition, he doesn’t want to disappoint her if he doesn’t make it.

By the end of his last year, no openings have been mentioned. He graduates with A’s across the board and a Bachelor’s in Performing Arts. After performing at the end of the semester’s production, scouts, directors, and all types of people are lining up asking Dean to join their team, dance for their company, and perform in this musical, on and on. He declines them all, knowing all the while some of the opportunities are a once in a lifetime thing.

When he arrives back home to Kansas, a part of him he hadn’t known was tense, relaxes. Ellen welcomes him back home with open arms. Sam is so excited to see him back he bounces on his bed while he catches Dean up on everything. Apparently Sam got accepted into Stanford University for law. His scholarship will pay for pretty much everything, but anything it doesn’t Ellen has no problem helping with.

Dean is both thrilled and sad to hear the news. He can’t believe he missed so much of his little brother’s life while he was away. The kid has somehow managed to even outgrow him. Dean smiles to himself at how weirdly hilarious it is that Sammy’s feet dangle off his twin bed.

His old dance studio takes him back with wide open arms. Dean couldn’t be happier to be signed on as an instructor, laughing and smiling with the toddlers, spinning them like his mother use to do with him. He critiques and helps the teenagers, urging them to focus on flexibility and strengthening their core. For the older few, he leads with a kind but firm hand. And every night, after the last student leaves, he hooks up his phone to the speakers and spends hours dancing, lost to the music.

It is only during this time, and this time only that Dean ever allows himself to feel anything. His sadness and regret for missing out on half of Sammy’s life, the loneliness he feels, frustration at doing nothing with his degree, the years of pent up anger and hurt from who his dad became, being unable to help out Ellen as much as he should. It all comes out. Only after hours have passed, his limbs grow heavy, sweat soaking through his clothing, and his mind has stopped thinking does he collapse onto the matted ground, panting heavily, staring at himself in the mirrors.

One night, after a relatively normal day, Dean stumbles home well after midnight. He flops down on his bed, trying to pretend that Sammy is still in his own bed, not hundreds of miles away in Stanford. Still somewhat wound up from his night dancing, he decides to check on Castiel’s studio's website to see if there is anything new. At the top of the page there is a pdf file for an application, a short description of requirements, an address to send in the application, and a time and day for auditions. Dean whoops loudly, fist pumping the air, and preparing exactly what he is going to perform. 


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel has worked hard to get to where he is. It hasn’t been easy, but it has been worth it. Being a twenty-eight year old dance instructor and single-handedly creating and owning one of the most prestigious dance companies in Chicago is a little overwhelming at times. Through all the stress though, it has given him the ability to continue to do what he loves; dance.

He wouldn’t be where he is now without the amazing talents of his eight coworkers and friends. He counts himself lucky every day for running across and discovering such amazing humans. The chemistry they create together is what transforms their dancing into a surreal form of art. Together they are able to create stories, bring out emotions some people had no idea they could feel, and make people fall in love with the world of dance. The Chicago Tribune raves about them, causing tickets to sell out as soon as they hit the box office. With that kind of pressure, every performance needs to be better than the last in order to survive.

With how flawlessly fluid they move together, an observer might think they’d all grown up together. Honestly, almost all of them Castiel had met completely by accident.

Balthazar had been one of the only few people who spoke to him in college. Shortly after Castiel got his company up and running, Balthazar had just shown up and refused to leave, stating he only danced for the best and Castiel was it.

One night not long after Balthazar refused to leave, the French man decided they needed to celebrate Castiel opening his own business. After getting pleasantly tipsy, they were walking back to Castiel’s apartment from the cozy bar just across the street when Castiel stopped next to an alley. He heard music and cheering echoing off the walls. Something inside him pulled to walk down the alley, despite his friend’s annoying attempts to try and stop him.

When he laid eyes on the dark-haired girl, he had to admit it wasn’t what he was expecting. Her skimpy half-shirt was ripped, showing her toned stomach, and her baggy sweatpants had ripped holes everywhere. She was beautiful, and her dark hair whipped dangerously in every direction as she threw herself into her moved. The way her body moved in time with the music was nothing less than captivating. 

Castiel had studied enough on street dancing to know it was usually unrehearsed. Typically a person would be led by the music and dance. Of course there was always practicing the skill beforehand, but nothing was technically mapped out or rehearsed. This was all on impulse and for the simple joy of dancing. In a sense, it was dance in its rawest form.

After the music stopped and people around her were done whooping and patting her on the back, she walked right up to him with arms crossed and introduced herself as Meg Masters. Even slightly drunk, Castiel knew talent when he saw it. He asked if she had ever had any type of dance training before. Meg rolled her eyes and replied with standing on the tips of her shoes, lifting her left leg straight up in the air above her head, balance never wavering. Castiel gave her his studio's address, asking her to stop by the next day.

Castiel honestly happened upon Anna and Bartholomew by mistake. He was running late for a meeting with his brother, Gabriel, and cut through some park he wasn’t familiar with yet in hopes it would be quicker than attempting to hail a cab in rush hour traffic. It was there, in front of a fountain, that bright, fiery red hair caught his eye. She was balancing, one handed on a serious looking man’s head, doing the splits in the air. He stood, memorized as he watched them balance, twist, turn, and throw each other around as if they each were weightless. Before their music even stopped playing, he approached them, asking that they stop by later that night.

Balthazar had dragged Castiel to a charity event hosted by Academy of Dance, Official School of the Joffrey Ballet, claiming something about how he needed to get out more. It was there, grumbling and uncomfortable in an itchy second hand suit, that he first saw Samandriel. The blond haired boy stood in the middle of the stage wearing black tights and a white buttoned up silk shirt, violin tucked loosely under his chin with eyes closed. As he slid his bow across the strings, the boy's feet began to move with almost perfect steps, never faltering. Throughout the whole performance, never once did the kid miss a note or a beat. The whole song was not only perfect, but emotionally moving. Castiel sought out the kid after everyone was done performing, offering him a job as one of his dancers.

One ridiculously humid summer night, Castiel was closing up the studio. Balthazar was waiting for him outside the doors, saying he was stealing Castiel from a night of boredom for a surprise. Knowing better than to fight the French man, he reluctantly followed his friend to the bar near his apartment humorously named, “Bar”.

Gadreel had been possibly one of the only other people, besides Balthazar, who had talked with Castiel at college. Balthazar informed Castiel he had dragged the man here to celebrate his birthday. Somewhere between shots of vodka and a lot of beer, they talked about what they were doing with their lives. Gadreel had gotten married to a beautiful art professor named Hannah, and he had just finished up a musical in New York and was looking for work. Knowing how the man already danced, Castiel offered him a spot on his team. The man agreed a little too quickly, which made him believe this was Balthazar’s plan all along (though his friend will forever deny it, to this very day).

It was Samandriel who actually found Jo. Castiel had stayed late one evening, going over the previous month’s finances, trying to figure out if he had enough to buy new flooring for the little kid’s room. Finally fed up over the numbers, he left his office, locking the door behind him, walking to the front door. A light shone from the studio upstairs that he and his team practiced in, spilling soft yellow light into the darkness. He grumbled to himself about his carelessness, and climbed the stairs slowly. Halfway up he paused, hearing the beginning sounds of a violin echoing out the room. Something in the long, slow notes made Castiel’s heart began to ache inside his chest.

Castiel quietly finished climbing the stairs, and approached the room, making sure to stay back in the shadows. He saw Samandriel off to the side, facing the wall of mirrors with his eyes closed, swaying slowly to the song he was creating, completely lost in his own music. A blond haired girl in a ponytail was spinning and twirling over the floor, completely in time with the music Samandriel was creating. The song grew into a beautifully sad climax, and Castiel felt his breath coming out short and shaky. The girl flung herself this way and that, leaping across the floor with the ease of confidence and experience.

Something about watching them almost felt intrusive. It went deeper than just a boy playing a violin for a girl. It was almost as if he was watching their feelings come alive and speak for each other; something so personal he found himself blushing, stepping back further into the dark hallway.

The music slowed to an end, and the girl fell against Samandriel's back, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, body shaking with silent sobs. Castiel ducked his head, quietly hurrying down the stairs, and out the door, locking it behind him.

After practice the next day, he took Samandriel aside and asked him about the girl. He started to apologize for using the studio after hours, but Castiel held up a hand to stop him. He reminded the boy that this is why each of them has keys, in case any of them needed to come and dance for whatever reason. Samandriel hesitantly explained that the girl, Jo, was his roommate. He looked everywhere but at Castiel, blushing furiously as he explained that she was a stripper and prostitute who’d run away from her home town after her dad died. She had lost her apartment after her roommate died from a drug called Yellow Eyes. He had seen her walking home one night, half naked, standing on the side of the road looking kind of lost.

That night, after Castiel dismissed everyone for the night, he again took Samandriel aside, but this time asked if he could take him to where Jo worked so he could meet her properly. Face red, still unable to meet Castiel’s eyes, he agreed.

They took a cab to Rick’s Cabaret, and after a ridiculous fee just to get in, they sat in fairly comfortable chairs while half naked girls walked around waiting tables. Castiel spotted Jo before Samandriel did. She was swearing thigh high shiny black boots, holey fishnet stockings, and a lacey red thong, spinning upside on a pole. Castiel ignored Samandriel’s squeak of protest, and walked right up the edge of the stage, waving her over. She bent backwards, letting her feet land, then fell into splits to ease herself down to Castiel’s level. He pulled out a twenty, tucking it into the band of her panties, whispering in her ear that he wanted to speak somewhere more private.

Jo suggestively wiggled a finger at him to follow her off the side of the stage and past a red velvety curtain to a dimly lit room with a red leather couch. She motioned for him to sit, and then promptly straddled his lap, grinding against him. Awkwardly holding his arms up in the air beside her, face turned to the side to avoid her perky breasts bouncing in front of his face as he tried his damnedest not to touch her. Castiel stammered out that he was here to propose a job offer for his dance company, and he was friends with Samandriel. She jumped off his lap, yelling about him being a perverted stalker, and to leave her alone. A short, burly bouncer came and not-so-gently escorted him out. Samandriel was already waiting anxiously outside the club, profusely apologizing.

The next day Jo showed up mid-afternoon while they all were going over some tap steps. She apologized to Castiel for not trusting him, and said Samandriel explained everything after she got home that night. Jo asked if the offer was still good, to which Castiel smiled warmly, welcoming her to her first day.

Castiel couldn’t be happier with his small team of mix and match dancers, but still he felt like he was missing something. They all worked well together, no matter what type of dance steps they were practicing that day. They all had enough experience of some sort, so if someone wasn’t comfortable with tap, for example, someone was always there to help another out. They all worked so closely with one another, they found themselves more like a family than friends. They ate together, fought like family, sweat and bled together, and on rare occasions, slept on at the dance studio because of crappy winter conditions. Still, despite how smoothly things were going, something felt incomplete.

It was a stupidly cold thirty degree October day that had Castiel opting to ride the L train instead of walking to Gabriel’s building. He was kicking himself for not wearing a hoodie when a very nervous Asian man sat on the bench seat right next to him. Castiel wasn’t even completely sure the boy knew he was sitting next to someone as he practically piled his bag onto his lap without a “sorry”.

The boy then took out a tablet and pulled up a video of an instructor going over basic tap instructions. As the video went on, Castiel noticed how the boy was moving his foot along with the instructor on the screen, mumbling to himself about how “simple” and “stupid” it was. Castiel agreed, and said so, startling the boy beside him. His wide, dark eyes practically popped out of his head as looked Castiel up and down. The boy mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like, “It’s you”.

That was the first time Castiel remembers being recognized as someone people considered “famous”. The boy promptly introduced himself as Kevin Tran, and told him he had been practicing for years to become as good as he was (apparently his mother was rather pushy that Kevin become something great. Average was not adequate enough). His dancing was legendary, and a few of his routines from college were floating around YouTube. By the time Castiel’s stop arrived, he had offered a chance for the boy to audition, privately, later that night.

The rest, as they say, was history.

For five years the eight of them trained, ate, worked, and danced together every day. If they weren’t dancing, they all were spending time at this person’s apartment, or meeting up at the bar down from Castiel’s apartment for a drink. They had performed five different performances, each one drawing in more of a crowd than the last. Castiel’s name and business was known (thanks to his brother) throughout the world by multiple media formats. The Chicago Tribune raved about Castiel and his team of dancers.  _ Dance _ and  _ Pointe _ called him one of the “alluring performers of our time” and called his dance company one of the most prestigious places to dance.

As if overnight, everyone was contacting him about wanting to audition. After discussing possibly recruiting new members, they all unanimously decided they were fine with what they had. Frustrated with being stopped so frequently on the street and asked about dancing on his team, he finally snapped on a young looking girl. He told her their group was fine, and  _ if _ he did need to fill a place in the future, he would hold auditions for anyone who had suitable requirements. Castiel stormed away from her, ignoring the fact she was still asking questions.

His dance company as a whole was doing as well as could be imagined. The small children’s class was run by a rather terrifying but beautiful woman named Rowena MacLeod, filled up the next day after their first performance. Different age groups from teens to older adults all suddenly seemed to want to learn how to dance. Couples wanting to choreograph their first dance at their wedding were booked out for the next seven months.

Kevin, Balthazar, Gadreel, and Castiel were the only ones with Bachelor degrees, allowing them to help teach. As the classes grew in size, private lessons were given more frequently than not, and deadlines for Castiel’s personal team was drawing closer, and saying he was beginning to become a bit overwhelmed would be an understatement. With a little coercion from Meg, Castiel dropped teaching, focusing purely on dance routines, lineups, and his team of eight dancers.

Due to the overwhelming demand of everything on Castiel’s plate, Gabriel now came by to Castiel’s little office in his studio once a month. He always helped his little brother with the books, making sure everything was in order before setting a rather large bottle of vodka on the desk and demanding Castiel relax for just an hour before he exploded.

It was these short periods of time that Castiel let himself fully relax. He didn’t have to be an instructor or a boss; he could just be Castiel Dmitri Krushnic, awkward little brother who didn’t know enough pop culture references (according to Gabriel). The drunker they got, the more Russian they spoke, until at some point all English was gone from their speech and stories from their childhood had them laughing until their sides hurt. No matter how cold and callous their lives had been, Gabriel and Castiel always respected their mother’s wishes to carry on their Russian blood, and “never forget where they came from”. They both found it hilarious considering they were born in Boston, but they understood their mother’s point, nonetheless.

On these visits, as the bottle became more and more empty, that Gabriel would pull out a recorder (“I’m not going to remember  _ der’mo _ tomorrow,  _ mladshiy brat _ .”) and would get around to doing his actual job. The questions for The Chicago Tribune were typically all standard and the same. Castiel knew Gabriel would never hurt him or his business by letting something personal leak into the paper, so if he happened to say something entertaining that happened it was strictly between them. One of the perks to having a journalist brother—he didn’t have to ever do any interviews. Gabriel took care of everything on the media front, including creating and maintaining their website, selling interviews and questions to different dance magazines as the offers came. Gabriel often teased that he was Castiel’s manager, and needed a cut of the cash he was pulling in.

All in all, life was maybe a bit stressful and overwhelming, but it was good. Castiel couldn’t complain. His dream of owning his own business and dancing how he wished to dance had come true. The fact that he ended up with such an amazing family of misfit dancers was just an added bonus.

That was until the night of their closing performance. Everyone had gotten changed, and headed out to meet at the bar by Castiel’s when Gadreel pulled him aside. He told Castiel he had to leave; Hannah was pregnant and wanted to go home to her family in Germany to raise their child. As frustrated as Castiel was at losing a dancer, he was distraught over losing his friend. Castiel congratulated his friend, and the night of celebration turned into a bittersweet affair with sadness and goodbyes.

This is how Castiel managed to spend the last week mentally arguing with himself about whether to fill Gadreel’s spot or not. On Friday afternoon Meg finally corners him in his office, demanding to know what the hell has made him so “half assed and moody” suddenly.

“When I saw you dance, Meg, it was like I was…like…like everything else just stopped.” Castiel runs a hand through his hair.

“You should already know you don’t have to sweet talk to me to get me in bed, Clarence,” she replies, raising an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean, idiot,” he huffs, walking over to his desk and leaning on the edge. “It was like that for all of you in some way or another. It was passionate, unrehearsed, and raw. The way you all danced because you  _ loved _ it. Not because you had to.”

Meg chuckles a bit, flipping her wavy hair over her shoulder. “Don’t think you can find another one of us around this hell hole?”

Castiel shakes his head slowly. “Uh, no. Not with how widely known we have gotten. Everywhere I go it seems as if someone recognizes me.”

He watches as Meg walks over to him, raising an eyebrow in question. She nudges his knee and he opens his legs enough to let her slot in between Castiel’s legs. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she sighs dramatically.

“What are you doing, Meg?” he asks, letting his hands rest lightly on her sides.

“Listen, I know you don’t like the whole rehearsed shit, but if you want to fill Gadreel’s spot, sounds like this is the only way.” She shrugs a shoulder, running her fingernails over the nape on the back of his neck. “If you don’t feel like anyone is anything other than mindless robots, then don’t hire them. No one is saying you have to pick someone.”

Castiel grabs Meg’s wrist gently, and pulls her hand to his lips and kisses it before letting it go. “I told you we can’t do this anymore,  _ prekrasnyy _ .”

She rolls her eyes, stepping back away from them touching. “Yeah, I remember.”

He looks her up and down slowly, taking in how tight her thin white shirt is, really is emphasizing her perky breasts. Castiel shakes his head, smirking slowly as Meg puts a hand on her hip.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer.” She taps her chin for a moment and then a slow smile spreads over her lips. “Oh wait, you did.”

Castiel huffs out a laugh, pushing himself up off the desk. “You looked absolutely sinful tied to my bed. Would be a pity not capture such beauty.”

“Mmm, can’t quite recall.” She tilts her head, sucking in her lower lip. “Might need to refresh my memory.”

“Stop pouting,  _ dorogoy _ , it isn’t a good look on you.” Castiel runs a hand down his face as he sits down on his chair. “Meg, you know—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Meg waves a hand at him, rolling her eyes. “You don’t do relationships. Got that loud and clear, Clarence.”

He shakes his head, still not quite understanding the nickname she gave him years ago (no matter how many times Meg explained it). “I  _ can’t _ do relationships, Meg. There is a difference. I have no time to give you the type of love and affection you deserve.” Castiel lets his eyes drag slowly over her body one last time, enjoying every sweat damp spot making her shirt that much more see through. “We both know you were getting too attached.” 

Meg hums in acknowledgment, leaning a hip against his desk, looking down and playing with a pen in a coffee mug. “But you gotta admit, angel. When you did find time, the sex was pretty great.”

Castiel smirks, eyeing Meg’s pale cheeks growing beautifully pink. He doesn’t respond. There isn’t any point to. They both know the sex they had was amazing. If her cheeks are any clue, he’s pretty sure she’s remembering their last time. She looked absolutely profane tied up; so wet she had made a dark spot on his sheets, begging for him to let her come as he massaged her clit slowly, teasing her pussy with his fingers. He fucked her face until he was right on the edge, praising her the whole time at how well she was taking him. How gorgeous she looked with her red lips around his cock. He pulled out just in time to come all over her tits, and then sucked on her clit until she came with a scream.

It wasn’t until they were in the bath; Meg’s back leaning against his chest that she whispered she thought she was falling for him. As amazing a person she was, Castiel couldn’t see Meg as anything more than a friend. Their sex was good, of course, but that wasn’t reason enough to pretend to have feelings. More than that, it wasn’t fair to her.

He let her down as easily as possible; reminding her that they had agreed this was strictly just sex. He told her it was probably better that they ended things before the feelings got any stronger. She nodded silently, proceeding to quickly get out of the tub and dress. Meg didn’t stay that night, like she usually did after sex. She left, coming up with some story about needing to check on her cat. She didn’t even own a cat.

The next day at practice, she greeted him normally. Everything between them was tense for a few days, but no one seemed to notice anything, or at least no one commented on it if they did. After a week, it was as if nothing had ever happened.

Of course the attraction was there. Castiel would be blind not to notice every curve of her body. He could appreciate beauty, after all, just like with any of his other friends he danced with. Hell, even Balthazar was basically sex on a stick. Castiel still remembers back in college when they were both each other’s drunken booty calls on more than one occasion. Still, knowing what Meg’s feelings were now, and acting on any sexual desire would be just plain cruel and wrong.

The next morning Castiel calls Gabriel to tell him about wanting to pursue auditions. His brother asks about credentials and requirements Castiel wants for the dancers, and then assures him he will take care of the application and announcement. Castiel explains he doesn’t want to drag it out, and wants the auditions to be done next week. He gives the day and time, saying no leniency will be accepted.

When Castiel gets off the phone and heads upstairs to prepare everyone for morning stretches, he feels a little lighter. When everyone arrives, he explains to them what he’s decided. Castiel adds that it isn’t just his decision, but all of theirs.

“We work together, side by side, every day. The person we want to bring into our family needs to be able to able to work beside us smoothly.” Castiel says, looking over all of the familiar faces slowly. “I have even questioned if we might not be able to fill Gadreel’s position. If we try this and have no luck, we must just accept that this is the way it is to be.”

A few of them nod and then Castiel claps his hands refocusing everyone to get started on their stretches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prekrasnyy- Beautiful   
dorogoy- Darling  
der’mo- shit  
Mladshiy brat- little brother


	3. Chapter 3

To be honest, the day of auditions sneaks up on Castiel. Gabriel texts to remind him that he will be there later in the afternoon, which startles Castiel into remembering exactly what today is. They have all gathered in their normal dance studio as usual, but the air is charged differently. Instead of it being relaxed, anxious excitement charges the area full of possibility. Kevin and Bartholomew help drag in folding chairs from the observing area for the small children’s parents into their room. Balthazar tries to convince Castiel to bring a desk to make the whole thing more intimidating, which he refuses, though it is mildly tempting.

By ten o’clock Gabriel walks in with an armful of papers; all applications and resumes, (some even with a photo of what they look like) for those coming to audition. The group each grabs a handful to read, periodically exchanging stacks when done. By the time noon comes around, Gabriel announces it is time to let in the first “victim”.

If Castiel had to label with one word how the rest of the day went, he would have to go with “excruciating”. By the time seven o’clock rolls around, and the final girl whose name he’s already forgotten stumbles in her landing, he is exhausted. He isn’t sure if Gabriel has had all thirty-four dances learn the same steps, but it sure seems that way. The girl, Jennifer? Jeanette? Jamie? Walks towards the exit with Meg calling out, “we’ll call  _ you _ .”

“Like hell we will call her.” Balthazar groans, tipping his head back and rubbing his face. “I say we call it a night and head over to Cassie’s bar for a drink.”

“Well, she definitely wasn’t the worst one we’ve seen all day.” Kevin replies grabbing and collecting everyone’s papers of applicants.

“Please tell me that is the last one, Cassie.” Gabriel pleas as he stands up, raising his arms above his head and stretching. “I don’t get paid enough for this kind of torture.”

Castiel looks down at his list of names, all but one are crossed out. “I can check the hallway one last time, but it appears this, uh,” He squints at the paper. “Dean didn’t show.”

“Probably a waste-of-time-beginner just like the rest.” Meg huffs as she arches her back, cracking it against the back of the chair.

“We all start from somewhere.” Samandriel shrugs. “I didn’t think number ten was terrible.”

“Number ten? Seriously Alphie?” Meg snaps rolling her eyes. “He was a train wreck.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me ‘Alphie’, Meg?” He sighs.

“Miss blondie only allowed to pet name you, now?” she says, nodding her head to Jo. “Samandriel is such a mouthful.”

“Most of these people are coming from big named colleges. Three of them even performed in musicals on Broadway,” Kevin interrupts, flipping through the stack in his hands as if looking for something. “I mean, sixty percent of them have been dancing since they were young. Most of them aren’t even beginners, really. They are all graduates of some sort of another, and all—”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Meg interrupts, rolling her eyes. “Half of us in this room aren’t fancy college kids. That make us any less of the dancers we are?”

“No!” Kevin squeaks. “I didn’t mean—I mean, of course you’re great, but—”

“She’s just being difficult, Kevin,” Castiel says, giving Meg an annoyed look. “She knows we don’t think any less of her, Jo, Bart, or Anna.”

Meg rises to her feet, with a mischievous smirk set over her lips. “You’re just so easy to rile up.”

“Probably because you scare the shit out of him,” Jo says, lifting her dance bag over her shoulder, nodding at Alphie to the door.

“Which makes it that more entertaining every time.” Meg folds up her chair and leans it against the wall.

“I’m literally right here,” Kevin mumbles, offering Castiel the stack of papers.

Castiel takes the papers and shakes his head at the younger boy, smiling warmly. Even after being here and working with Meg for years, he truly is terrified of her. He isn’t even exactly sure if Meg has actually  _ done _ anything to him. Mostly it’s just her attitude, which he will admit, comes off a little standoffish, but she loves their little group. He knows, without a doubt, there isn’t anything she wouldn’t do for any one of them.

Loud footsteps pounding up the wooden steps quiets everyone into immediate silence. They all turn and stare at the door, waiting for whoever is on the other side to show themselves. Castiel hears a deep, masculine voice mumbling something just outside the door before a loud thud, and the door swings open.

A red faced man ducks in, smiling cheekily, giving a half wave. “Parking is a real bitch. You guys should look into that.”

Castiel looks the man up and down, taking in his holey jeans and old, worn leather jacket. “Auditions are closed.”

The man’s smile slowly fades as he walks closer to Castiel. “Look, I know I’m late. I really am sorry about that, but if you just give me a chance—”

“Everyone else managed to make it here at the requested time.” Castiel crosses his arms as he watches the man run a hand through his light brown hair.

“I drove all the way from Kansas, pretty much not stopping at all. This town looks the same, and I got fucking confused on which way I could actually turn, and half your streets are closed for construction.” He shakes his head, looking up with pleading forest green eyes at Castiel. “All lame excuses, I get it. Listen, I know you probably hear this shit all the time, but I’ve been waiting for years for you to actually open your doors to let someone new in. I promise if you give me a chance, you won’t be disappointed.”

Castiel tilts his head at the man standing in front of him. His posture is good, even despite his bow legged stance. The tight shirt clinging to his body gives away enough that Castiel can tell the man takes good enough care of himself to be in shape, regardless of his actual wardrobe choice. His eyes slowly climb back up the man’s body, and Castiel finds himself searching those mesmerizing green eyes for some sort of reason to decline him the chance.

“Clarence, let the kid dance,” Meg says somewhere behind him. “He looks dog tired. Better to put him out of his misery quickly, yeah? The quicker we get it over with, the quicker we can all get drunk.”

He narrows his eyes at the man for one long second, and then turns back to his friends. “You have ten minutes to get ready. No more. You’ve already wasted enough of our time with your tardiness; do not make me regret this, mister…”

“Dean. Dean Winchester.” Castiel glances behind him to watch the man walking to the side of the room, shedding his jacket. “You won’t regret it.”

Castiel walks back to his cold, metal chair and sits down. Balthazar falls back into his, grumbling about being punished. The others gather around, whispering to one another. Castiel tries to ignore Gabriel when he leans his head forward in between him and Balthazar.

“This kid scored high at the top of all his classes, and could’ve been somebody.” His brother reaches forward and thumbs through the stack of papers still in Castiel’s hands.

“What are you looking for?” Castiel hisses, pulling the papers out of his brother's reach.

“The kids paper. It literally has noth—”

“I remember what it said,  _ pridurok _ .” Castiel glances back at Dean who is walking back in from the hallway in and is warming up in a pair of gray sweatpants.

“Fine. Be a little  _ otrod’ye _ . All I’m saying is there has to be something wrong with the kid to why no one took him,” Gabriel replies, leaning back against his chair.

Castiel notices how Dean glances back at them, then walks over to the table with the laptop and speakers sitting on it. Castiel is about ready to ask if he is ready when the music starts.

It catches him off guard. It isn’t the usual orchestra music, or even some piece from a popular musical. By the time the singer belts out the first words, Castiel is already lost in Dean’s movements. The man moves his body with purpose, letting whatever he is feeling come through his movements. For a moment Castiel has to remind himself to breathe, eyes unable to look away from Dean.

“Holy shit. Did you see that leap?” Balthazar whispers in his ear. Castiel nods in response because holy shit indeed. It was amazing.

“I know  _ ochen’ malo _ about the shit you do,  _ mladshiy brat _ ,” Gabriel whispers too close, in the same ear as Balthazar. “But I do know amazing when I see it.”

He nods again, his tongue apparently unable to form any words on the performance before him. Castiel’s eyes track every one of Dean’s moves, completely overwhelmed with the story being told in front of him. The raw emotion this man shows seems to almost empower his movements. The dance story unfolds into something deep, holding so much pain Castiel hears Anna gasp somewhere behind him during a particular move. The melody from the music and movements have seemed to entwine into one in and of itself, and by the time the music fades and Dean is crouched down, panting before them, Castiel finds himself speechless.

An elbow nudges him, and he blinks a few times and clears his throat trying to find something intelligent to say.

“So uh, we will call—”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Castiel?” Meg interrupts.

He turns in his chair, giving Meg a warning look behind him. She crosses her arms, rolling her eyes in surrender. She mouths “fine”, and nods back to the front.

“As I was saying, Dean,” Castiel says, watching the man rise from the ground. “We will be calling you in a day or two for call backs.”

“Look forward to dancing for you again,” Dean says with an impish grin on his face. He gives a wink, turning around gathering his phone and duffle bag, and heading back out into the hallway.

“Holy shit, Cassie! Did you see the way that guy moved?” Gabriel slaps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes excitedly.

“I cannot believe you didn’t offer him the spot right then and there,” Balthazar says, shaking his head. “I mean, do you really want to sit and watch number whatever dance again?”

“Man has a point,” Bartholomew says, holding a hand out to Anna to help her out of her seat.

“We needed to at least talk about it before—”

“Great! We talked, we agreed, now go put the poor boy out of his misery,  _ mon amie _ ,” Balthazar says, pushing Castiel’s shoulder a little.

Castiel stands up slowly, looking around at all his friends' faces carefully. They all are smiling, talking excitedly amongst themselves. “You all are at—”

“Yes!” They all reply in unison, even Gabriel.

He smiles, turning on his heel and walking to the door. Castiel doesn’t see him in the hallway, and half jogs down the staircase, worried he might actually have to call the man to make him turn around and drive back. He opens the front door quickly, squeezing his eyes closed as a gust of wind slaps him in the face, and collides with something very solid in front of him.

Castiel stumbles backwards a bit, bumping into the closed door behind him.

“Shit, sorry!” a familiar voice says, turning around. For a moment, Castiel finds himself unable to stop staring up into the man’s eyes. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry. You alright?”

Castiel shakes his head slightly, standing up straighter. “I shouldn’t have been plowing through the door like an idiot. But I am happy to have caught you. I was afraid I was going to have to call you back.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms across his chest. “Well, lay it on me then.”

“We would like to offer you the—”

“Yes! Hell yes!” Dean whoops, throwing his fists in the air. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this, man! Yes!”

“—position,” Castiel continues, trying to keep it professional. The happiness and excitement is infectious, coming off the man in waves. “Of course, we will give it a month or so to see if you fit in with us and can keep up.”

“Stamina ain’t a problem,” he says, laughing.

“You might find we are a bit more different than any other places you’ve been with before. We use all different types of dance multiple times a day.” Castiel tilts his head at the grinning man. “You aren’t listening to anything I’m saying, are you?”

“I hear ya, but it’s kinda like ‘in one ear, out the other’ right now.” He shrugs, shifting the weight of his duffle slung over his shoulder.

Castiel nods, about ready to excuse himself when the heavy door whacks him in the back, sending him stumbling forward, knocking into Dean again. Warm hands grab his shoulders, steadying him. Their eyes lock for a moment before Gabriel’s laughter hits his ears and he looks back at all his friends spilling out of the door.

“Told the kid?” Meg asks, wrapping her red scarf around her neck tightly.

“Look at Deano’s face,” Gabriel chuckles. “That definitely isn’t the face of someone who got told to come back for call backs.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, nodding a thank you to Balthazar who is handing him his coat. “Ready to drink this day away, love?”

“ _ Da _ ,” Castiel says, zipping up his coat, watching Kevin lock the door behind them.

“You coming, Dean?” Samandriel asks.

Castiel raises an eyebrow, glancing over at Dean who blinks wide-eyed back at all of them. “I, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Sure you want me to come along?”

Samandriel shrugs and moves with Jo down to the sidewalk next to Bartholomew and Anna. “Don’t see why not.”

“We can get to know you a little better before you run away screaming after Castiel works you to death,” Jo teases, taking Alphie’s arm, dragging him ahead to catch up with Anna and Bartholomew.

Castiel stuffs his hands in his pockets, watching his friends laughing and walking against the wind away from him. He smiles fondly at the group, feeling completely content in the moment. A nudge to his shoulder makes him turn away and glance over to Gabriel smirking up at him. His eyes flicker over to Dean who stands in the same spot by the door, looking a little bit lost.

“ _ Pogovorit’s rebenkom _ , Cassie.” Gabriel pats him on the back once, and then sticks his hands in his coat pockets whistling a tune that sounds somewhat familiar.

Castiel sighs and shakes his head, turning to the newest member of his dancing team. Gabriel is right. Dean does look terribly unsure of what to do. His eyes keep darting from the group of people back to Castiel, all while his fingers play with the strap of his duffle bag.

“The bar is across the street from my apartment. It’s nice,” Castiel says.

“Yeah, uh, sounds…nice.” Dean clears his throat and looks back at him. “You sure, though? I mean, I don’t want to crash on your guys' thing, or whatever.”

“I think that they would be a little upset if you turned down the offer,” Castiel says, swaying as another cold rush of wind whips around him. “Walking is warmer, yes?”

It takes only a second for Dean to process what he says before hurrying beside Castiel as they begin walking. The three block walk is silent, save for the whistling of wind blowing them in the face every so often. By the time they reach the bar, Castiel can no longer feel his ears and his legs seem to have gone numb. Dean stomps his feet beside him, blowing into his hands cupped at his face.

“Cassie! You made it!” Gabriel exclaims from their usual round table near the center of the room. “Oh good, Dean came! Now I can get the story of the mysterious stranger to put in the paper.” Gabriel chuckles, winking back at Dean.

“Uh, what now? No one said anything about an interview?” Dean asks, dropping his hands from his face slowly, glancing at Castiel.

Castiel rolls his eyes unzipping his coat. “Gabriel, let the boy get comfortable first, at least.”

“Dean!” Kevin calls from his seat motioning to an empty chair next to him. “Saved you a seat!”

Castiel watches as Dean hesitantly walks to the table, draping the duffle bag strap across the back of the chair before he sits down. He joins his friends after tossing his coat across the back of the empty chair next to Gabriel and Anna. Everyone seems to be engrossed in their own conversations, and he takes a few minutes just absorbing the comfortable atmosphere.

After a few rounds and a lot of laughter, Anna and Bartholomew are the first to bid everyone goodnight and leave, Kevin following after mumbling about needing to get home to his mother. Meg ended up sneaking out at some point without anyone noticing, but that was mostly normal lately. Jo and Alphie follow after, and Castiel holds back a smile as Jo wraps her arms around Samandriel’s arm for support. Castiel realizes Balthazar hasn’t reappeared from using the men’s room awhile ago. He scans the bar in search for him only to discover a dark haired girl currently draped over his side, laughing loudly at something he has just said.

“Do you guys always end the night like this?” Dean asks, setting his empty bottle down.

Castiel shrugs, glancing at the clock on the wall above the bar flinching internally as he reads 10:28 illuminated in red neon numbers. “Occasionally. Much less now than we used to.”

“Cassie never ventures out into the real world, anymore.” Gabriel chuckles, sipping his fruity drink through a pink straw.

Castiel rolls his eyes, standing slowly. “I venture out as much as you.”

“You wish you had my nightlife,  _ mladshiy brat _ ,” he says, winking at him.

Castiel shakes his head, slipping on his coat. “Just because I’m not a  _ shlyukha _ doesn’t mean I don’t have a social life.”

Gabriel waves a hand at him, sucking up the rest of his colorful drink. “Whatever you say, baby bro. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Some of us responsible adults do have a job to get to in the morning,” he quips.

Gabriel cringes as he stands up. “Sounds terrible.”

Castiel grins down at his brother, reaching out to hug him goodbye. Gabriel pats him on the back twice and then playfully shoves him away. “Have keep up my cool vibe in this happening place.”

Castiel glances around at the dimly lit, almost empty bar. His eyes rest on a flushed face Dean standing beside him awkwardly tapping his duffle strap.

“So, uh, guess we have an early day tomorrow or something, right?” Dean asks, pulling on a loose thread from his strap.

“We will meet at seven am tomorrow for practice.” He moves past Dean to the doors.

He steps out of the bar, taking in a deep breath of the cool, crisp air. Castiel hears the door open and close behind him as Dean walks up beside him, the fog of his breath puffing off to the side of his vision. They stand there for a few moments silently, Castiel stares up at his apartment building unsure to why the man is lingering beside him, not really sure what to say.

Right as he is about to say goodnight to the man, Dean interrupts. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Castiel stuffs his hands in his coat pockets, ducking his head as a cold burst of wind rocks him on his feet. “Goodnight, Dean,” he mumbles, then crosses the quiet street to his apartment. He unlocks the door, looking back across the street to see Dean awkwardly looking around as if he is unsure where he is headed. He debates calling out to the man and asking if he needs help navigating back to his car. Another gust of wind has him changing his mind and slipping inside the cramped entryway, deciding if Dean needed help he would have asked before bidding goodnight.

Castiel closes the door, making sure it latches before he begins his slow climb up the stairs to the third floor. He thinks about the evening and conversations exchanged between his friends. They all seemed to be reminiscing old stories from dancing together, including the time the air conditioner went out on one of the hottest days of the year when they first started dancing together.

_ “After insisting it wasn’t that bad, and we could fix it ourselves, he passed out not five minutes later from heat!” Samandriel laughs. _

_ “Seriously?!” Dean laughs, leaning forward engrossed in the story. “He hit the floor and everything?” _

_ “Like a rock,” Kevin nods. _

_ “I was not at all sorry when I poured a bucket of cold water over his head,” Balthazar replies, leaning back in his chair, smiling smugly. _

_ “I was just a little dehydrated,” Castiel mumbles. “And we did end up fixing the issue.” _

_ “You put a fan in the window and had us cut out before noon,” Meg deadpans. _

_ “And it fixed the problem until I could get someone here to fix it.” Castiel shrugs and sits back, trying to hide his smile. _

_ Meg rolls her eyes and nudges Anna, whispering something in her ear and they both disappear into the restroom. Dean’s laughter grows louder throughout the night as Kevin and Samandriel share little stories about everyone at the studio. Castiel smiles warmly at how easily Dean has already fallen into their little group. _

By the time he reaches his door, exhaustion that has been steadily creeping up on him seems to have wrapped itself around him and is trying to drag him under. He fumbles with his keys, and after a few tries, unlocks the door. Castiel kicks it closed behind him, not bothering with the light switch beside him. After hearing the automatic lock click into place, his eyes have adjusted to the darkened room. The streetlight from outside illuminates the apartment just enough he makes it across the living room to his bedroom with ease. Castiel strips off his coat and shirt just outside his bedroom, letting them fall on the floor somewhere behind him. He hits his bed, yanking the covers over top of him, and buries his head into his pillow. His last thought of consciousness before sleep takes him over is wondering if Dean got back to where he was sleeping okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mladshiy brat- little brother  
pridurok- moron  
Otrod’ye- brat  
Ochen’malo- very little  
Poyovorit’s rebenkom- talk to the kid  
Shlyukha- slut  
Da- yes  
Mon amie- my friend


	4. Chapter 4

*~*Dean*~*

“So what’s the story with Alphie and Jo? How long they been together?” Dean asks quietly as Kevin pushes down on his leg above him. 

“Together? Them?” He lets go of Dean’s leg, sitting back on his knees and looking over at the pair of them. 

Samandriel and Jo have their hands clasped together, taking turns pulling each other forward, with their legs spread wide. Kevin shrugs, turning back to Dean and motioning for him to lift his other leg up.

“They aren’t together, but I guess I can kind of see where you might get that,” he says, grabbing Dean’s ankle with one hand, while the other hand pressed down just above his knee on the floor, keeping it flat.

Dean lets out a long, slow breath, counting down in his own head till Kevin releases him. Somewhere beside them he hears Balthazar laughing and Castiel scolding him for breaking form. As Dean trades places with Kevin, now pushing down on the Asian’s leg, his eyes scan the studio taking in everyone stretching around him. They all seem to be so relaxed with each other, it doesn’t seem so weird now that they consider themselves family. 

“It gets easier,” Kevin’s voice says softly from underneath him. 

Dean slowly releases Kevin’s leg, sitting on the balls of his feet and waiting for the kid to adjust. “What does?”

Kevin raises his other leg slowly, motioning for Dean he is ready. He leans forward, grabbing the leg and letting his other hand rest just above the kid’s knee like he did for him. “Being here. Dancing the way Castiel teaches. Spending every moment around these guys was really weird at first, you know?” Dean lets go of his leg, sitting back on the ground.

“Yeah…” Dean waves a hand around the room. “You all just seem really comfortable around each other. Kinda the way I do with my brother, or something.”

Kevin chuckles and glances around the room. “Guess I was kind of overwhelmed at first, too. I’m an only kid, so having to be around all these guys every day was like a shock to the system.” He leans back on his hands, smiling warmly over at Meg, Anna, and Bartholomew all talking while they put on their ballet shoes. “Couldn’t imagine it any different now.”

Dean watches as Balthazar pushes against Castiel’s raised leg, jokingly thrusting his hips just above the man’s body. Castiel swats at the man who falls back laughing as Castiel brings his leg down, just barely missing him. Dean chuckles as the two of them try and get back to stretching but Balthazar just keeps trying to sexualize everything. 

“Now they were a thing.” Kevin nods over to them. “Back in college, I think. Balthazar is a shameless flirt, though. So I wouldn’t doubt he hasn’t slept with or tried to sleep with just about everyone in this room.” 

Dean’s eyebrows rise looking back at him. “Even you?” 

Kevin rolls his eyes and spreads his legs, motioning for Dean to mimic him. Dean puts his feet against Kevin’s and they grab forearms and Kevin pulls Dean slowly to him. “He tried for a bit, but eventually got the picture I wasn’t interested.”

Kevin slowly releases his hold and Dean leans back, slowly pulling Kevin towards him. “Not into pretty boys, huh?”

Kevin huffs a laugh leaning back pulling Dean again. “Not into much of anyone, actually.”

Oh. Oh. “Hey man, that’s cool. Not judging at all,” Dean says quickly. 

“Wouldn’t really care if you did.” He laughs. “Got used to all that crap in school. Now I just brush it off. Castiel doesn’t let that kind of stuff fly around here, though.” 

Kevin lets go of his arms, leaning back on his hands again. Dean finds his eyes glancing back over to Castiel again, who is now hugging Balthazar’s waist, left leg up in the air. Balthazar is hanging onto his ankle, rolling his hips in a circle in front of Castiel’s face, while the dark haired man scowls up at him.

“I’m going to bite it off, Balth,” he hears Castiel snap. “Stick your dick in my face one more time, I swear. Don’t fucking tempt me.”

“Oh, mon cherie. Always so aggressive.” Balthazar chuckles, letting go of his ankle. 

Dean shakes his head as Kevin chuckles beside him. “How do you guys get anything done with him?”

“Bal is actually right up there in skill with Castiel, believe it or not.” Kevin pushes himself off the ground, holding out a hand to Dean. “When it comes to dancing, he’s a frickin’ natural. Actually kind of pisses me off how easy he makes it all look.”

Dean takes the hand, letting Kevin help him up, giving him a confused look. “Balthazar? I mean, I know it’s my first day or whatever, but between yesterday and today the guy just seems kinda…” 

Kevin laughs, leading them over to where their ballet shoes lay beside their bags. “Cocky? Too confident?” Dean nods. “Probably because he knows how he dances, and he doesn’t care how he comes across telling people. I guess if you’re good at something and can back it up, I would brag too.”

Dean starts slipping on his shoes right as Castiel claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. Slowly everyone chooses a spot to stand throughout the room, and Kevin motions for Dean to stand by him. Castiel begins with going through the five positions, and Dean almost laughs at how basic it all is.

Almost as soon as the thought leaves his head, he watches as the man jumps right into a complex five step movement. Everyone around him starts moving, mirroring the steps Castiel just did. Dean clenches his jaw and tries to pick up and copy what Kevin is doing beside him. 

“Good, good. Now, today’s class is going to be a little slower paced just so we can introduce Dean into what our days are like.” Castiel says walking in front of the wall of mirrors. “I know we need to start working on our next performance for February, but I figured a little break might be nice.”

“You haven’t told us what the theme is,” Bartholomew says. “You usually let us know by now in case we have some ideas to run across.”

Dean glances at Kevin who just shrugs and flexes his foot out in front of him. He looks back up at Castiel who looks anything but pleased with the question.

“I, uh, yes.” He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. “With everything that has happened since our finale, my mind has been elsewhere. I do have some ideas, but basically the theme is along the lines of ‘love’.”

“How original, Clarence.” Meg snorts. “Let’s do something every other Tom, Dick, and Harry plans to do. We’ll really stand out.”

“I’m going to have to agree with Meg on this one, Cassie,” Balthazar says, throwing his leg up on barre and leaning over to touch his toes. 

“Has hell frozen over?” Meg asks, throwing a hand over her forehead dramatically. 

Dean snorts and then tries to cover it up with a cough. The love idea is pretty overused; he can see what Meg is saying with it. Maybe if it was done a little differently, or spun another way it could be something great. From what he has seen over the years from Castiel and his company performances, he knows whatever the guy has planned will be nothing short of amazing.

“Please tell me you have another plan?” Bartholomew asks, crossing his arms.

“Yes I, uh, have a few ideas about what we might do.” Castiel runs a hand through his hair again and sighs. “For now, though, I know how we will end it.”

“Group orgy?” Balthazar chuckles, switching legs. 

Dean chuckles as everyone else groans around him. “It isn’t a good idea to encourage him,” Kevin whispers. 

“Guy always has his mind in the gutter like this?” Dean asks nodding back over to Balthazar who seems to be getting a lecture from Castiel at the moment.

“You have no idea.” Kevin nods back over to their bags and Dean starts walking over towards them. “Castiel usually ignores him. When he’s in a bad mood though…” Kevin glances back at the two loudly exchanging words. “Balthazar has actually walked out. I mean, he probably had a private lesson or something too, but when Castiel is in a mood you kind of don’t want to press any of his buttons.”

“So, you’re telling me Castiel is in a bad mood?” Dean asks, sitting down and slipping off his shoes and wiggling his toes. 

Kevin shrugs again. “Something is off. I mean, you’re around these people enough to pick up on little things. All I know is Cas hasn’t really been himself lately. We all got fed up with his half assed attempts to teach a little bit before you got here and I think Meg followed Cas to his office to corner him about it.” 

A loud bang echoes around the room, and Dean raises his head up just to see Bartholomew throwing his other shoe down on the floor between the two arguing men. Anna stands a little ways back, shaking her head as their voices just seem to get louder. 

“Take it that talk with Meg just made everything even better then?” Dean says leaning back against the brick wall. 

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Kevin says, sitting next to him. “She said he was just stressed and needed to get laid. I think he needs a breather.”

“Don’t you guys ever just have a day? You know, some ‘me time’ or whatever?” Dean asks.

“He needs a damn day, that’s for sure,” Kevin mutters, propping his knees up and resting his arms over them. “I mean, I love the guy, don’t get me wrong. He’s the best to dance for, and sometimes I still think I’m dreaming when I get home and think about it, but…” He flicks his wrist at the room, turning his head to Dean. “I mean, he runs this whole damn place seven days a week. Not just us, but all the other kids and adults that come here for lessons. That includes everything going over Rowena’s classes and her plans, too. There’s always people who want private lessons, and trying to work out a time to fit those couples who want the ‘perfect’ first dance at their wedding and— ”

“Holy shit, Kev! I get it, dude needs a vacation.” Dean says turning back and watching Bartholomew get up in Balthazar’s face. “This isn’t going to get ugly, is it? I mean, I thought you all were—”

Kevin chuckles and shakes his head. “Seriously, they all kind of need to get it out of their systems every few months. It’s never actually come to blows, just a lot of yelling and class usually gets let out for the day.” 

“But back to what you were saying, Cas is one of the most skilled and intelligent men I know. I mean, look at this place.” Kevin sits up and looks around. Dean lets his eyes go from the wall of mirrors across the room to the door. “He did this! He had an idea, and fucking went for it. I mean, yeah, we all help out in our own ways. We all take turns cleaning up the different rooms. A lot of us teach different classes, too. But, bottom line, this place wouldn’t—we wouldn’t—be here without Castiel.” 

“You’re a fucking moron!” Meg yells.

Dean watches as the dark haired, short, spitfire girl storms out the door, letting it slam closed behind her. Anna glides out the door silently after her. What a way for his first day to go. When he calls Sammy tonight, he is never going to believe this. That is, if he even answers. 

He has no clue why his little brother has been avoiding him lately, but it probably has something to do with some important essay or something equally stressful. It is an amazing school for kids who are ridiculously smart and going to be someone important in the world. Dean watches as Bartholomew shakes his head, throwing up his arms following after Anna. He wonders if whatever is going on is still over the theme. 

“Everyone is excused for the day.” Castiel’s loud voice booms throughout the room. “Kevin and Balth, I still expect you to teach classes as expected. This conversation is done.”

Castiel crosses the ground so quickly Dean wonders if he isn’t running away. The suggestion for the theme wasn’t that bad. Sure the idea of using “love” around Valentine’s Day is going to make them not stand out as much, but depending how they go about it could make it something different and fresh. 

“Well, I need to head down to Rowena’s room and see if she needs some help with the kids.” Kevin picks up his bag and gives a little wave. “See you tomorrow.”

All he can do is stare after the kid leaving the room. Long after everyone else has left, Dean sits there against the wall, staring at the empty space and wondering what the hell he got himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mon cher- my dear  
Mysli- thoughts


	5. Chapter 5

*~*Castiel*~*

“And again!” Castiel shouts, circling around Kevin again.

Castiel watches as Kevin’s feet fly over the ground, a bit more sure of themselves this time. Counting his beats in his head, he takes a moment to glance around the room, eyeing everyone else’s progress. It is only the first week of practice with Dean, but for the most part everyone is adjusting well to the new body. Dean himself, though, seems to be struggling. 

Castiel nods to Kevin so he will continue and walks over towards Dean. The man’s green eyes flick up to him briefly before falling back down to stare at his feet in the mirror. The timing is off in his steps. The more Castiel listens, the more hesitation and mistakes he hears. Almost sensing the lecture to come, Dean lets out a frustrated grunt and slams his foot on the ground. 

“Listen man, I know I’m fucking up here but you standing there silently judging me isn’t doing either of us any favors,” he snaps. “Either say what you want to say or leave me alone until I can get this.” 

The tapping that had been echoing around the room from everyone’s shoes slowly stops. Castiel hears someone whisper something, but the voice shuts up immediately as he steps forward into Dean’s personal space. Dean’s eyes grow wide in either panic or fear, but Castiel could honestly care less. No one, not even his closest friends, is ever allowed to talk to him like this. He may be new, but disrespect of any kind will not be tolerated.

“I think you are confused about who is teaching who, _ mal’chik, _” Castiel says, dropping his voice lower as he leans in closely. “I thought you came here to dance on my team, therefore being taught and instructed by me. Not the other way around.” 

He watches Dean’s panicked expression disappear as he straightens his back, narrowing his eyes back at him. Castiel watches as Dean’s jaw clenches as he leans back out of the man’s face, pointedly looking him up and down. “It must be my mistake to critique your work. I’m sure you know much better than I.”

“I shoulda kept my mouth—”

“I can tolerate many things,” he interrupts, narrowing his eyes. “But disrespect of any kind is not one of them.” 

Dean’s face is so bright red it makes the color of his green eyes stand out that much more. His jaw seems to be clenched so tightly Castiel wonders if it hurts. He tilts his head, waiting for Dean to lose his cool and give him a reason to kick him out. He seems the type, too hot headed to listen to authority. Maybe this is why he didn’t have anything under his belt before he came here. A shame, really. The man does seem to have so much talent.

The tension between them stretches out uncomfortably. Castiel finally concedes and flicks his wrist at him. “Your steps are stiff and you move like a baby learning to walk. Your resume states you have been taught all types of dances throughout many years, and in college you were one of the best. I see none of that here. I see someone who dances like they are trying to remember them from a book. We dance with what we can feel. I thought you had what we were looking for, but…” He shrugs and crosses his arms. “I have half a mind to think the only thing you can do is what you showed us.” 

“I told you from the beginning that this would be a one month trial period to see how well you can do here, and it has barely even been a week and you are on more than thin ice.” Castiel looks him up and down again, shaking his head. “It was never going to be easy. If it was, everyone would do it. If you have been dancing for as long as you say you have, then you know what getting to where any of us are entails. What we do takes patience, dedication, love, and the want to do better.” 

“I want to—”

“I do not see any want to do better!” Castiel interrupts. “The only thing I have been seeing is frustration, anger, and stubbornness. You cannot force yourself to dance and plan to get anywhere with us. You do not get a person to fall in love or feel anything by hating what you’re doing.”

Dean holds his gaze for a few beats before lowering his head. Castiel watches as his fists slowly uncurl and the blood rushes back into the whites of his knuckles. 

“You’re right. I fucked up.” Dean mumbles.

“I do what I do because it is what I love.” Castiel smiles faintly and looks around at all his friends standing around looking back at him. “If you do not enjoy what you do, you will not succeed here. I will give you a week to think about that. For now, every night for one week, you will clean the mirrors in all rooms after everyone is done. Do you understand?”

Dean’s fists curl up tightly by his side again, and Castiel raises an eyebrow waiting for another remark. Dean slowly raises his head, eyes narrowed back at him, and spits out a, “Yes sir” so quietly Castiel almost misses it.

Castiel nods, and then claps his hands turning back to his group of dancers. “Alright, watch me! From the beginning!”

The next two days are almost painful to watch. The others are getting the hang of the steps for the routine he’s come up with. Castiel is actually really proud at how quickly they are all easing into the more tricky parts. It shows how far they all have come with their abilities and relationship with one another. 

And then there is Dean. 

Lord help him, Castiel knows the man is trying. Maybe that’s why he has to physically catch himself from flinching when he watches Dean stumble or misstep. There have been improvements. Small, miniscule improvements, just enough to give Castiel a small sliver of hope that maybe—just maybe—Dean has taken what they talked about to heart and is trying to work it all out on his own.

Whatever Dean is doing, it has Castiel wondering about his sleep habits on the second day after their discussion. Dean has dark bags under his eyes, and he swears those are the same sweatpants he wore yesterday. They don’t just look like the same pair, no, they are the same pair, with the same little hole right above the left knee. Like his concern for the man’s mental hygiene wasn’t already bothersome, there seems to be a certain odor coming from his dance bag that makes Castiel questions if the man believes in showering more than once a week. 

Would bringing it up be taken as offensive? It seems no matter what he says Dean responds like he just threatened to throw him in Lake Michigan. Maybe he should ask Balthazar or Meg what he should do. No one else has ever had this problem before. Castiel is pretty sure that at some point they all have complained to each other for being a little too smelly that day. It happens. Especially in the dead of summer with a less than perfect air conditioner, it just makes everything that much better. 

Castiel groans and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. It shouldn’t be this hard to bring it up to Dean. He’s his employer and instructor. If he can’t take a little criticism, then he definitely won’t last in this business. Castiel decides he will bring it up after hours when Dean is alone and wiping off the mirrors.

“Baby brother!” A loud voice calls from the doorway. 

Castiel turns and sees Gabriel standing there, shaking the dampness from his hair like a dog. He tilts his head in confusion, glancing at the clock above the door. 

“What are you doing here, Gabriel?” Castiel asks, nodding to Balthazar to continue class in his place. 

“It’s Friday,” he replies.

It can’t be Friday already. It’s only Wednesday, or maybe even Thursday at the latest. How did the whole week go by with him missing it? Castiel opens his mouth to argue, but Gabriel throws an arm over his shoulder, guiding him out the door. His brother shoves him towards the stairs, blocking any chance he would’ve had to flee back into the room. 

“You know Balth can handle the rest of it.” Gabriel nudges him down a few stairs. 

Castiel grumbles and loudly stomps the rest of the way down the stairs to his office. He ignores the annoying click clack of his tap toes across the hard linoleum floor, and walks over to his chair and slumps into it. Castiel glances over to the doorway as Gabriel enters, tilting his head with his ever-present impish grin, and takes his usual seat in the wooden chair across from the desk. He props his feet up on the edge of the desk, ignoring the glare Castiel gives him. 

“Your shoes are dripping over my desk,” he grumbles, bending over to untie his laces.

“A little slush never hurt anything. Not like you really use this room anyway.” Gabriel nods to the papers beside his feet. “How old are those anyway? Bet you couldn’t tell me what they are even without looking.” 

Castiel tosses his shoes over in the corner and leans back in his chair. “I’m sure they’re important if they’re sitting on top of the desk and not in the garbage.” 

“You look like shit,” states Gabriel, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Castiel grunts, and runs his hands over his face. 

“Listen Cassie, you can’t keep pushing the deadline off any longer. It’s been close to a month since I mentioned it last time, and I know you’ve been trying to work Deano into your little band of misfits, but—”

Castiel slams his fist down on the desk shaking the coffee mug of pens. “_ Dovol’no _!”

Gabriel holds his hands up and leans back in the chair, making it stand on only the two back legs. “You’re great at what you do. One of the best, in my biased opinion, but you’ve never had trouble finding an idea before. You usually have something planned before the performance is even done.”

“You don’t think I know that?!” Castiel snaps. “You don’t think it’s been eating away at the back of my brain that I have nothing planned, and I’m just the blind leading the blind?”

Castiel hears the chair settle back down on all four feet and watches as Gabriel moves the coffee mug to the edge of the desk. “I know you better than anyone, _ mladshiy brat _. You have some great unlocked ideas inside that noggin’ of yours just waiting to come out. You couldn’t be who you are without that brain of yours. Don’t forget people from all over think you’re some great choreographer and artistic director.” He leans forward and taps his finger on Castiel’s head and then his own, winking. “Only I know the truth.”

Castiel lets out a snort and sits back in his chair, sighing. He knows his brother is right. There are probably a hundred different ideas for different types of themes he wants his company to perform. If only he could just have a moment to himself where he doesn’t have to think about expenses, Rowena demanding more attention to her classes, an overwhelming amount of private lessons that Balthazar, Kevin, and he can barely keep up with. Now it just seems to be how Dean is doing and if he is going to work, and if he isn’t where do they go from here?

“You might think you’re fooling these _ priduroks _, but I guarantee Balthy has probably already figured out something is up. It’s only a matter of days before the others catch on,” he says, shrugging. “I have to warn you that if you don’t announce something soon, Crowley is going to step in. I really would hate to see the legacy you’ve created turn into a place for hungry sellouts.”

Ah, Crowley. How could he forget his biggest sponsor and the person who sold him the building he made into his dance studio? He probably should have known the guy would be trouble since he gave Castiel the place at such a good deal. Despite Gabriel’s pleading to have the contract looked over by a lawyer, Castiel signed it. He was worried Crowley would actually recant on the whole thing, and jack up the price to something Castiel would never be able to afford. Honestly, looking back on it, he was probably right. 

The contract itself was full of a lot of numbers, agreements, and stipulations that, in Balthazar’s words, “is fucking preposterous”. Bottom line, it was ironclad. If Castiel somehow started faltering of any kind, Crowley could step in and, in essence, take charge. Castiel would merely just become a face, and Crowley would call the shots from then on out. The business name and all Castiel has created it to be, would be turned over to Crowley. The only way these stipulations are void is if Castiel has been successfully running his business for ten years with no issues. Injuries, depending on severity, that may happen during this ten year time are subject to review the contact. 

Right when Castiel starts to forget his existence, the man seems to pop up out of nowhere to “check in” and make sure that things are fine. Castiel is far from dumb; he knows what the man is doing. Crowley is making sure his “investment” is still worth it. The hate for the man drove him to better his company year after year, constantly wanting to shove the doubt the man carried back into his face and making him eat it. 

Until now. 

Castiel rests his elbows on the desk, rubbing his hands over his face. It isn’t supposed to be like this. Sure, he is twenty-nine, which isn’t exactly young in dancing years, but he knows his body enough to know he still has a few more decent years left. His age shouldn’t be the reason nothing seems to be inspiring him. He shouldn’t be so dried up without any good ideas. He pushes his hands up, grabbing fistfuls of hair and yanking painfully. He needs to get his shit together or his company is going to suffer.

“How’s the new kid doing?” Gabriel asks. “Is he as good as his audition, or do I need to start thinking about posting another tryout?”

Castiel leans back in his chair, staring up at the cracking ceiling. He should really patch up a few places. What was the point really? Gabriel is right, he rarely uses the space. When he does actually venture into the room, he’s elbows deep in coming up with dance routines, expenses for this that or the other, and going over videos for Rowena’s classes. 

“Don’t get me wrong, he seemed like an alright kid when we had drinks. Very likeable, and his dance was just…” Castiel looks back over to his brother who waves a hand in front of him. “You know what I mean. But seriously, Cas, he hasn’t had any real world experience, right?”

Castiel sighs and nods a little. “He is doing…well.”

His brother snorts. “That sounds believable.”

“It’s just taking him a bit to adjust to how we work. Switching quickly from one type of dance to the next seems to be a struggle, I think. Everyone, for the most part, seems to enjoy him. I don’t think anyone has any real complaints.”

Castiel watches his brother tap his finger on his arm a few times before he clicks his tongue. “Not really answering my question.”

“You asked me how he was doing. I answered, _ rodnoy brat, _” he replies, narrowing his eyes.

Gabriel leans forward over the desk, meeting Castiel’s eyes with his own intense look. “Do you think he’s going to hack it, or not, Cassie?”

“He has passion. His moves are a bit stiff, but he just needs—”

“Time. I get it.” He rolls his eyes, leaning back in the chair. “And how much time are we giving our Channing Tatum?”

“I don’t understand who that is,” Castiel deadpans.

“Watch a fucking movie once in awhile.” Gabriel rolls his eyes again and sighs dramatically. “Dean. How much longer are we giving him? I’m going to be honest with you, Castiel, time isn’t really something we have a whole lot of right now.”

He knows his brother is right. Gabriel can only buy him so much time running bullshit stories before his editors and boss wants something with actual substance. Hell, Gabriel even told him he hasn’t mentioned anything about Dean joining. He said he wanted him to be one hundred percent sure before he wrote something he wouldn’t be able to take back. 

Still, Castiel can’t help but feel responsible for Dean not thriving. The man has a gift, and just watching him audition was proof enough. The fact that Dean hasn’t been able to get through one practice without it ending up in some sort of train wreck falls back on him. He has so much promise, and if he could just help Dean unlock the passion he saw a few weeks back everything would be fine.

Deep down, he knows his brother is right. It is going on two weeks, and if his dancers cannot flow smoothly together, at least a little bit, for one practice after this much time he might have to make that call. Despite how amazingly talented he knows Dean must be, it isn’t just about one man. It is about his friends, their jobs, and lives that sit on his shoulders. 

Castiel lets his eyes focus to the doorway behind his brother. “I’ll give it one more week. If I don’t see any improvement, I’ll make the call then.” 

Castiel refocuses on his brother as he stands, brushing out his pant legs. “I can push them off for maybe one more week. But I’m seriously already really pushing it with all the bullshitting. Come up with an idea, or use that copout idea of ‘love’, I don’t care. I just have to give them something.” He walks over to the doorway and pauses, hand resting on the frame of the door. “For what it’s worth, if anyone can come up with something mind-blowing-original, it’s you, _ mladshiy brat _.”

Castiel sits there, staring at his chipping ceiling, mind racing with their conversation. He tries to think of ideas for their show he’s supposed to put together, but is having trouble focusing. Eventually he breaks his gaze away from the ceiling, and glances at the clock on the wall. Ten o’clock. How long has he been sitting here staring off into space getting nothing accomplished? He doesn’t even remember hearing everyone leave for the day.

He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, weighing the pros and cons of just staying upstairs in the studio for the night. He has to go up there anyway, to make sure Dean has cleaned all the mirrors as instructed. Something inside him thinks that when he gets back here at six in the morning it will be the last thing he is thinking about. Fuck, how long has he been sitting here after Gabriel left? 

Castiel stands up, rolling his neck back and forth before walking over to switch off the lights. As he reaches the stairs leading up to the studio, he grits his teeth. Light is spilling out of the studio onto the top of the stairs. Did Dean forget to turn off the light after he was done?

Halfway up the stairs, he hears the muffled sound of music. Castiel changes his footing, avoiding some of the stairs he knows to creak, and continues to make his way up the stairs. At the top he sees the hallway door slightly ajar, string music floating out to greet him. He cautiously approaches the opening to see a shirtless Dean beautifully landing a leap.

Castiel’s sucks in a sharp breath as Dean gracefully follows up with some twirls and spins, then throwing himself across the ground. Even if he wants to, he knows it would be impossible for him to look away from Dean dancing around the room. Just like in his audition, emotions seem to be pouring out into every move Dean decides to make. Castiel slowly takes in a shaky breath as a pang of sadness begins to spread throughout his chest. He hesitates to breathe again, fearing it might break whatever spell the man moving throughout the room has him under. 

As the song ends, the spin Dean was in abruptly stops. Castiel stares wide-eyed as Dean falls face first, fist slamming into the matted ground so hard he wonders if the man left a dent. It is only there with the sudden silence that Castiel hears his own heartbeat beating loudly in his ears. He swallows thickly, licking his dry lips trying to compose himself. Dean lies still on the ground in the exact position he fell, sweat glistening off his gorgeously toned back, and for a moment Castiel wonders if maybe the fall hadn’t been on purpose. 

Castiel grips the door handle, flinching as he pulls it fully open with a loud squeak. Dean’s head pops up, those ridiculously green eyes wide and staring up at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Castiel takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly trying to find the right words for what he just watched. 

“What was that?” His words come out more of a hoarse whisper.

Dean pushes himself up quickly, taking a few steps backwards. “I, um, shit.” He rubs the back of his neck looking around nervously. “Look, I’m sorry I’m not done cleaning yet, but I, uh, I mean—” 

Castiel raises a hand and Dean immediately falls silent. “What you did just now.” He nods his head to the room. “I could feel it.”

Dean looks down at his feet, then back up at him. “I just wanted to blow off some of this week, okay? I won’t let it happen again.”

“I think you misunderstand me.” Castiel tilts his head at Dean, trying to understand how he could be apologizing. “What you did, just now, was what I wish I could see always. You danced this same way at auditions, and up until tonight, I haven’t seen you move with this much…passion.” 

If at all possible, the man’s face grows more crimson, his green eyes definitely narrowing at Castiel. “Listen, Cas, but, uh, I don’t just…” Dean waves his hand around the room. “I just don’t do that kind of shit with anything, you know? It’s not a rehearsed piece of dance steps, or anything it’s just…”

“The way you move is like you’re telling a story. It’s art in the rawest forms.” Castiel smiles a little watching Dean rub the back of his neck again.

“I’m just blowing off steam from today. Don’t make it into something more.” Dean mumbles.

“I would give anything to dance as beautifully as you do.” Castiel shakes his head, chuckling. “You have no idea what you look like when you dance, do you?”

“Listen, if this is about this week, I know I can do whatever it is that you want me to do, alright? I just need to figure out a rhythm with your style is all,” he snaps, standing up a little straighter. “You seriously want to stand there saying you wish you could dance like me? Are you kidding me? You own this frickin’ place and people pay to come and see you! Have you ever seen the way you dance? Fuck, Castiel, you are one of the best damn performers anyone has ever seen! When I was in school and they showed me that damn video of you, that’s all I wanted to do. I knew with you was where I wanted to be. I’m nothing compared to how you move around the stage. It’s flawless and graceful. People kill themselves to dance like you do.”

All he can do is stare at him, watching Dean’s chest rise and fall a bit faster with his outburst. Castiel debates telling Dean there is a difference between dancing from your heart than dancing from memorized steps, but decides it would probably go unheard. He wonders if anyone has ever shown Dean how he dances. 

“The music you were dancing to, it is cellos, correct?” Castiel asks, nodding over to the table that holds his phone plugged into a pair of speakers. 

A smile twitches at the edge of Dean’s lips right before he lets out a few loud coughs that suspiciously sounds like laughter. “Yeah man. It’s the 2Cellos.”

All Castiel can do is stare blankly back at him. Is he supposed to know who this is? He tries to play it off by saying, “Oh,” glancing back at the speakers and then back at Dean.

Dean doesn’t even try and hide the smile on his face this time as he starts chuckling. “You have no idea who that is, do you?”

He feels his face heat up as he looks away from Dean. “I do not, um, have the luxury of listening to as much popular music as I would like.” 

Dean walks over to his phone, still smiling and laughing to himself. “You never just listen to music and let yourself go? Or hell, just pop on the radio just to have some sort of background noise in that dungeon you call an office?”

“Of course I do.” Castiel snaps a little too quickly. 

Dean looks back up at him, eyes staring far too intensely back at him, holding his phone loosely in his hand. His eyes slowly begin to rake over Castiel’s body slowly, making Castiel shift his feet nervously under the gaze. After a moment, Dean looks back down at his phone. “Sure seems like it.”

Castiel clenches his jaw, narrowing his eyes at the man. What is he trying to say? Sure he has been a little stressed lately, but he doesn’t think he’s coming off as a completely an uptight asshole.

“You seem a little stressed, I guess.” Dean says typing something in his phone. “I know when I start to feel like I’m about ready to explode; this is how I let it go.” 

“I listen to music.” Castiel defends himself, clenching his jaw. “I don’t need to listen to…to whatever that is. People seem to forget how moving and inspiring classical can be.” He watches Dean nod slightly, staring down at the screen, ignoring him completely otherwise. 

Irritation flares at how simple his preference of music is being disregarded. This, on top of the frustration he felt with Gabriel, starts to bubble up. He opens his mouth to comment on how rude Dean is being, but Dean interrupts him. “If I had to guess, I would say you’re pretty much past stressed. You’re so stressed that everything’s irritating you to the point you wanna explode, yeah?”

Castiel’s mouth closes with an audible click of his teeth. Dean looks up from his phone, cocking an eyebrow his way. “I’m going to take that as a yes.” He glances back down at his phone, rocking his head side to side as if debating something. 

“Just because the music is new, or has words, doesn’t make it any less effective.” He types something out on his phone, with only infuriates Castiel more. Is he texting somebody right now? “My mother taught me that. The classics like Mozart, Debussy and Chopin, are all great, Cas. I really ain’t knocking them, trust me.” 

Dean sets his phone down on the table next to the speakers, finally turning to look back at Castiel. The man’s locks eyes with him and Castiel straightens up slightly against the intensity they hold. The way Dean’s eyes never stray from his own has him feeling exposed-naked. He clenches his fists trying to fight off the uncomfortable urge to look away, willing to meet whatever Dean wants to throw at him. 

“I want to try something with you,” Dean says slowly. “If it doesn’t work, great, you gave it a shot. Stick with those boring overplayed classics.” Castiel opens his mouth to comment, but Dean raises a hand. “Just try it, okay? Since we’re doing it my way, I settled on something simple.”

Wait, what exactly does Dean want to do with him? “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

A sly smile spreads over Dean’s face, making the hair on the back of Castiel’s neck stand up. “You know how to tango, I assume?” 

Castiel scrunches up his nose. “Of course I know how to tango, you _ pridurok _.”

“I’m going to pretend like I didn’t hear that.” Dean says pressing a button on his phone, and slowly walking towards him. 

“You understand Russian?” Castiel asks, eyeing the man walking around him in a slow circle. 

“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I can’t tell when someone’s insulting me.”

The sudden sound of a violin floods over the speakers, making Castiel jump backwards a little. Dean appears in front of him, his hand sliding down his side to the small of his back. Dean pushes firmly, and Castiel automatically steps forward letting his right hand trail up Dean’s free arm, letting it fall around the man’s neck. Their chests press together as they turn in a slow circle, foreheads touching. 

“I got you, Cas,” Dean whispers. “Just follow me.”

Castiel feels his heartbeat pounding in his chest as a man’s deep voice starts to sing with the music. The scratchy voice mixed with the violin, the heat radiating from the man holding him, and the way Dean is looking at him has him suddenly getting lost inside the song. Castiel’s adrenaline spikes as the tempo increases, heartbeat matching the vibrations of the music. He swears the music is swallowing him whole, enhancing every touch across his skin.

Dean suddenly pushes him away, to which Castiel holds up his arm. Dean grabs it, the slap echoing around the empty studio over the music. Dean firmly tugs on his arm, and Castiel lets himself be spun roughly, only to fall against Dean’s chest and the man steps backwards, his strong arms carrying Castiel along with him. 

Castiel lets his head tip back, eyes slipping closed as Dean’s warm hands run up his leg, lifting it to wrap around his waist. As the music builds, Dean pushes Castiel back, holding onto his wrist and walking him backwards. Castiel eyes open to see Dean’s deep green ones locked intently into his. 

Dean pulls him back gently, fingers still tightly locked around his wrist. Dean catches him so his back is against the side of his body. Castiel’s head falls back against the man’s shoulder as his free hand runs quickly from his thigh up to his back, spinning him away again. 

Castiel lets Dean’s hands grasp both his wrists, spreading his arms wide. Their bodies press firmly against each other, faces turned away as Dean leads them around the room in time with the music. Castiel lets himself be thrown to the floor, Dean’s grip on his right wrist never letting go, steadying him. Dean pulls on his arm, slowly helping Castiel rise from the ground against his body. 

The music is something Castiel has never heard before, yet he swears it sounds familiar. He can feel it filling him, the same tempo he learned years ago back when he was a child so basic he could dance it in his sleep. But somehow, with Dean leading him, it feels different. It is different. The way Dean is controlling his body, yet somehow letting him have the freedom to feel and move as he wishes is just…freeing. Sure he’s lost himself in his steps, or music, but this time, with this music, he feels…gone.

Dean’s hands, fingers, skin is on his body and he just melts into it. He lets his body conform to the man, bending his body as Dean dips or sways. Castiel lets his own hands run over the Dean’s body, caressing the exposed skin with greedy fingers. Their eyes continuously find each other, over and over again. Castiel feeds off the passion and fire he sees dancing inside those emerald eyes, letting it ignite his own. 

Dean catches Castiel’s hand, letting his other one wrap around to the small of his back, pushing him in close. Castiel naturally lets his arm wrap around Dean’s neck, as his free hand grips Dean’s tightly. Castiel goes willingly as Dean dips his body down. He raises his left leg up on impulse, hearing the music fading into silence. 

The only thing between them is their own breathing coming out in heavy pants against each other’s lips. A part of Castiel isn’t ready for it to end. He feels like what they were doing had only just begun before they are being forced to stop. Castiel blinks up into Dean’s eyes as he fights reality threatening to force itself upon them. He is only now starting to become aware of how close their faces are to each other, which makes his already pounding heart skip faster. Castiel licks his chapped lips, trying to get his brain back online enough to form some sort of proper English. Dean’s eyes glance down to Castiel’s lips and he mimics the movement.

Castiel isn’t sure who moved first, or if maybe it was just gravity slightly increased and no one moved at all. Their lips press together, hot and wanting. He is only vaguely aware that Dean has lowered them to the mat because something solid is underneath him. Dean’s warm hands that were supporting him are now underneath his shirt, slowly roaming over his chest. He lets out a small gasp against Dean’s lips as his fingertips pass over his nipple, and then continue exploring the rest of his skin.

Lips still locked, he tips his head to the side, opening his mouth in invitation to Dean’s curious tongue. Castiel grabs a fistful of Dean’s short hair pulling him impossibly closer, diving his tongue into the man’s mouth, rocking his hips up feel Dean’s hardening length against his. Christ, it’s like he’s been dying of thirst and hasn’t known it till their lips met. 

Warnings are flashing inside his mind, reminding Castiel that he should be remaining professional. He’s trying to get his body to listen to his head, but their lips are sliding together easily as if they’ve been doing it for years. As if somehow knowing his thoughts, Dean responds, rolling his hips back against him, letting out a groan that gets lost inside their open mouths.

The heated back and forth rhythm of their already sweaty bodies builds to the point the warnings fade into static. It isn’t until Dean has rucked up his shirt, it pinching and pushing against his armpits, that his thoughts of what is happening come back online. 

He has been down this road with Meg. No matter how fucking amazing Dean feels against him, the ramifications of their actions could be damaging to their group. He will never be able to give Dean anything more than in this moment, and it isn’t fair to take advantage of him, no matter how unbelievably sinful the man’s tongue is.

Castiel runs his fingers through the back of the man’s short hair, grabbing as much of it as he can. He gently pulls back on it, sucking on Dean’s bottom lip as the man lets out the most pornographic moan Castiel has ever heard.

They both are panting, chests rising and falling against each other. The green has almost been completely swallowed up by Dean’s dilated pupils. Even though there are mere breaths apart, Castiel is tempted to let go of the man’s hair and let the man’s kiss swollen lips collide with his again. Dean looks absolutely wrecked, and they’ve barely been doing anything. 

“We should—” Castiel’s words get lost as Dean shakes free of Castiel’s grip, suddenly bending down and sucking on his neck. 

Castiel groans, squeezing his eyes tightly closed trying to focus on what he needs to do. He runs his hands down Dean’s sides, gripping his hips tightly as he thrusts up hard. Fuck, Dean’s body feels absolutely amazing against his. How long has it been since he’s been with somebody? It was Meg, and that was—fuck—it’s been almost a year—more than a year? He can’t fucking think with Dean’s warm body rubbing against his.

His train of thought sputters to a stop as Dean rolls his hips back against his, kissing and licking up his neck. The man does something with his tongue over his earlobe and Castiel lets out a moan. Heaven help him, he needs to get control of himself.

“Dean.” He groans, tipping his head back against the mat giving the man most access.

“Fuck, your voice is like sex,” Dean whispers against Castiel’s skin.

Castiel fumbles his hands against the man’s skin until they’re against his chest, pushing Dean a little way from him. And, fuck if Dean Winchester isn’t going to be the damn death of him. If the word “sex” had a face, it would be Dean’s face you’d see.

“We need to stop,” Castiel whispers, hating the logical part of his functioning brain.

An emotion too quick to catch flashes over Dean’s face before he schools it with that stupid grin Castiel refuses to think is charming. “I would ask if it’s because I’m a dude, but,” Dean rocks his hips over Castiels again dragging a hiss out between his teeth, “that doesn’t seem to be the issue.”

“My wants on the matter are a little confused to what is best for the group at the moment,” Castiel replies. 

Dean pushes himself up a little bit more. “And you’ve never just lived in the moment? Unwound?” 

“It isn’t a luxury I can indulge in. Especially with those I dance with.” Castiel sighs, lightly running his fingernails along Dean’s sides. “Imagine how much it would affect our team? Our dancing?”

Dean’s eyes slip closed as his head drops a little, humming at the touch. Castiel rubs his palms over the same spot, pushing himself up to place a light kiss on the man’s forehead. “Wherever this might have been going, I can guarantee it wouldn’t make either of us happy.”

With a huff, Dean rolls ungracefully off him and falls loudly to the side. “Speak for yourself.”

Castiel sighs as he adjusts his dick into his waistband so it isn’t quite so obvious, and sits up. “It isn’t fair to start something where I am unable to give you what you need.”

“Pretty sure you coulda given me what I needed.” Dean mumbles, throwing his arm over his eyes.

Castiel rolls his eyes refusing to acknowledge Dean’s pouting. “And after you’re sated? What then?”

He groans letting his arm fall back to the mat, pushing himself up. “Who even talks that like? Does everything need to be planned and figured out for you? Don’t you ever just let things happen?”

Shaking his head, Castiel stands up slowly straightening out his shirt. “It’s late and we have an early day tomorrow.” 

Dean nods to the mirrors in front of them as he stands up beside Castiel, palming the front of his sweatpants. “Didn’t finish cleaning the mirrors.”

“I think I can let it slide this one time,” he replies, walking towards the hallway. “Grab your things and meet me by the front door. I need to grab a few things from the office, and then I can lock up.”

Taking the stairs slowly, he tries not to think about what happened. Dean might not even be here next week, and fucking him would have made everything that much more complicated. Not to say that what happened in the studio isn’t bad, but hopefully the man has enough sense not to bring it up around everyone else. Castiel shudders, imagining what Meg’s reaction to the news might be. 

Castiel grabs his pair of boots beside the filing cabinet and slips them on. He tugs on his coat trying to avoid the clock on the wall. He already knows it’s late, but would rather not see exactly how much less than usual sleep he will be getting tonight.

“Ready when you are,” a rough voice says from the hallway.

Castiel gives one last look around the messy office and with a sigh, flips off the switch. The only thing giving off any light is the exit sign above the front door casting the hallway in a very ominous red light. Still, he can make out that Dean is only wearing his sweatpants, tennis shoes, a white t-shirt, and his leather jacket not zipped up. His usual duffle bag hangs loosely over his shoulder. 

“You do realize you are living in Chicago, right?” Castiel asks opening the door and gesturing for Dean to go first.

Dean steps out and instantly his arms wrap around his body. “Holy fuck balls, it’s cold!” 

Castiel laughs as closes the door and locks it behind him. Wet sleet pelts him as he sticks his hands in his pockets already feeling the cold dampness creeping under his skin. 

“Hopefully wherever you’re staying has extra blankets. It’s supposed to drop quite significantly tonight, and this will more than likely be turning into snow by morning.” 

“It’s only fucking October!” Dean grumbles, messing with the zipper on his jacket. 

“Welcome to Chicago, _ moy drug _. You blink and the weather changes.” Castiel laughs, stepping onto the sidewalk. “Sleep well, Dean. I’ll see you in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean danced to this 2Cellos song- https://youtu.be/LT5ErEGq6vQ  
The tango Dean and Castiel danced is inspired from this song and dance. https://youtu.be/Rn0xXo1gwGY
> 
> Mladshiy brat- little brother  
Pridurok- moron  
Dovol’no- enough  
Rodnoy brat- brother  
Moy drug- my friend  
Mal’chik- boy


	6. Chapter 6

There is not enough coffee in the world to get Castiel to greet his friends cheerfully right now. He clutches the warm mug in his hands like a vice, watching the wet snow down outside the window. He might actually consider it beautiful if he didn’t have to look at it for the next seven months. He listens to everyone entering the studio, voices excitedly going on about who knows what; probably the snow. 

Castiel swallows down the rest of the coffee in a giant gulp. He will definitely have to get some more very soon if he is going to make it through today. There is the usual lesson, followed by two private dance lessons in the afternoon, and then an older engaged couple asking for basic dance lessons.

The older couple he doesn’t mind as much, and actually might go as far as saying he enjoys meeting with them. It’s refreshing to teach something that comes so easily to him, and watching their faces light up when they remember how to move across the floor. The older lady is full of stories about her previous life, and it always makes Castiel smile. The man says little, but when asked about how the two of them met; his face had gone soft as he told their story. Love like theirs is something Castiel wants for himself whenever he decides to slow down. 

Glancing at the clock, he sighs and sets his mug down on the windowsill. Castiel walks over to the front of the room, rolling his shoulders. Everyone is milling about, stretching with one another; everyone that is, except Dean. Castiel scans the room at least three times before a slight panic begins to build in his chest. Is this because of last night? If anything he expected some comments or a change of attitude, but not just not showing up. 

He bends down and pretends to adjust his tap shoe, stalling for a few more minutes. Maybe he is just overthinking this. It’s his first winter in Chicago. The roads are already shit; adding snow to that mixture, and Dean is probably clueless on how to handle any of this. Does it even snow in Kansas?

Rising slowly, Castiel glances to the door and then the clock again that now reads a quarter past their usual start time. “Alright everyone, let’s finish up our stretches. I want to go through the first and second part—”

A loud bang from the door swinging open has everyone turning around and staring. A panting, red faced Dean walks heavily through the doorway, stumbling his way over to the side to drop his duffle bag. Castiel notices how wet his hair is and wonders how far away he parked.

Balthazar clears his throat and taps his shoe annoyingly against the floor. Castiel blinks a few times, dragging his eyes away from Dean’s crouched body as his body gives a shiver. Castiel narrows his eyes watching as Dean shucks off his leather jacket, tossing it beside his bag. Is he shaking? It isn’t that cold outside yet. The snow isn’t even sticking to the ground, but more of a wet slushy type of mess. Regardless, there is no way that Dean could have walked that far this early in the morning. 

“Cassie,” Balthazar says. “Do you want me to get everyone started?” 

Castiel runs a hand through his hair and nods. He has to keep it professional, right? He needs to address the tardiness with Dean. Even if it is due to the weather, Dean needs to learn to be better prepared for the future. They’ve all had their times with being late, but Castiel needs to remind him that he is in his probation period, nonetheless. It wouldn’t be fair to treat him any differently because of a few kisses.

Castiel claps his hands. “Alright, let’s get started everyone. Balth, you had a better grasp on it than everyone else. Start with Anna, her form was too tight. Kevin, stop watching your feet. Meg, your movements are sloppy. Alphie, it looks good, you just need to work on being a bit faster. Bartholomew, very nice. Jo, good movement.”

Balthazar nudges him and nods to Dean kneeling over his bag. “Boy looks like a fucking wreck, Cassie. Is he doing okay?”

“I’m sure he’s fine, but unadjusted to our weather up here.” Castiel replies in a hushed voice.

Balthazar hums in reply walking away, stopping by Bartholomew to tap his left leg, signaling the wrong foot usage. Castiel walks over to where Dean is still hunched over his bag, and clears his throat.

“You’re late,” he says, watching the man fall completely still.

Dean slowly stands up and turns around. His green eyes are rimmed red and dark bags lay underneath them. His whole face is red like he’s been in the cold for far too long, and his ears are possibly even more bright red. Castiel tries to keep his face as neutral as possible, but something must show because Dean is narrowing his eyes at him. Balthazar was right. Dean looks like a wreck. Castiel can’t tell if he’s sick or just really hung over—possibly still drunk—but whatever is going on, he cannot have his dancers coming in like this. 

He takes him a deep breath and almost coughs it back out. Nope. Not drunk. But the smell coming off him is close to that of the homeless people sitting on the street when Castiel walks downtown. He takes in another breath, this time through the mouth. He doesn’t remember him smelling like this last night. A little sweaty, of course, so was he, but not this terrible. 

Castiel straightens his back and takes another breath through his mouth, trying to figure out exactly how to have this conversation. “Need I remind you that you are still on a probation period?”

Dean nods once and steps off to Castiel’s side to walk around him. Castiel’s eyes go wide as he sees the strap of Dean’s duffle bag looped around his foot. He opens his mouth to say something just as Dean begins to stumble and fall forward. Castiel reaches out, grabbing his arm before Dean can hit the ground. 

Castiel hisses as his hand grips Dean’s ice cold arm. His fingertips start tingling at the sudden temperature change. It feels as if he is touching an icicle. Dean kicks the strap off his foot and rights himself, jerking his arm out of Castiel’s grasp. 

“Why are you so cold?” Castiel asks rubbing his hand on his pants trying to warm it.

Dean narrows his eyes at him, his jaw twitching as if he’s holding back from saying something. Castiel seaches his eyes before Dean’s shoulders hunch. Castiel watches as his whole resolve crumbles and Dean is left looking so utterly defeated and exhausted Castiel’s fingers twitch to reach out and comfort him somehow.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, glancing over to everyone else. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

“You have looked like you haven’t been sleeping well for the past week,” Castiel replies, waving a hand at him. “Your hygiene has been something I’ve needed to bring up with you as well, but there hasn’t really been the right time.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, his body giving a tremble. “Yeah, I bet I smell pretty ripe.”

Castiel cocks his eyebrow. Does Dean think this is funny? Dancing for his company means he is representing it as well. Maybe this wasn’t clearly implied through the auditions. Still, why would someone let themselves go and just be so…dirty?

Castiel shakes his head and runs a hand over his face. “I don’t understand what part about this you find humorous. I will remind you this one time that I have hired you, and in doing so you are representing the company and this business. I cannot have dancers showing up in the same unwashed clothes for a week. I don’t really understand why you, yourself would want—”

“I’ve been sleeping in my fucking car, okay?” Dean snaps. 

Castiel knows his mouth is hanging open and eyes staring wide, but as Dean’s words sink in, his appearance over the past few weeks makes more and more sense. How could he have been so oblivious to what was actually happening to one of his dancers? He is usually so good at picking up on when one of his friends is slightly off. And, to top it all off, the temperature has been steadily dropping all week to the point where it is now snowing.

He feels like he’s going to be sick. How cold did it even get last night? Castiel knows it’s well around thirty right now, so what would that have made it last night? Dean could have gotten seriously sick. It would have been on his hands, because he has been too self-involved with his own bullshit to see when one of his own was fucking homeless.

His teeth click together hard as he closes his mouth. Guilt twists in his stomach making bile rise in his throat. This is his fault. If he would’ve gotten his head out of his ass and actually focused on his actual dancers he would’ve noticed. No wonder everyone has been so snippy with each other lately. Usually he intervenes on the little issues before it gets to that point. Instead he’s been doing and thinking about everything else. Instead of working with Dean, easing him in, giving him extra help, he’s been punishing him. This could have all been avoided if he would have welcomed Dean into their group with warm arms instead of being rude and standoffish.

“This is my fault.” Castiel hoarsely gets out. “I…I am sorry.”

Dean’s eyebrows raise to far up it almost looks comical. “Dude, this is in no way your fault. I should have been better prepared, looked into someplace to stay ahead of time, or—”

Castiel shakes his head and holds up a hand. “I’ve failed as your instructor and as a friend. If I would have been more attentive—more present—in class, then all of this could have been avoided. Hell, I didn’t even ask or make sure you had a place to stay the night we were at the bar!”

“My money ain’t your problem, Cas,” he says. “I was unprepared, and thought I had plenty of time before it got cold to find a place.”

He shakes his head. “It is my job to make sure all of us are taken care of. I owe you the same kindness I show to everyone else, and I failed you.”

Dean gives him a hard look, eyes searching Castiel’s own for something. His resolve breaks with a chuckle, and he runs a hand through his greasy hair. “Let’s just agree we both could’ve handled things differently and we’re both dumbasses.” 

Castiel hesitates, wanting to disagree. Despite Dean being worn out, the man seems to have no issue arguing. He sighs in defeat, giving a slight nod. 

“Great. Uh, shouldn’t we be joining everyone else?” Dean tilts his head to the group.

He looks over and is surprised to see everyone staring back at them. Castiel lets out a breath and rolls his eyes. He really shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone is always in everyone’s business, and Dean should really be no different. At least finding the man a proper sleeping area for tonight will be easier. 

“Don’t be a fucking dumbass,” Meg says, breaking the silence. “You’re not fucking superman and these winters kill. Trust me. I’ve been on the streets a few times before Clarence found me.”

“I hear the wind is going to be nasty tonight,” Balthazar states.

“I suppose that brings me to my next question.” Castiel nods to Dean. “Would anyone be willing to give Dean a place to sleep until we can find him a place suitable for him to live?”

Everyone looks at everyone else for a moment before Kevin speaks up. “Live with my mom, guys.”

“We only have a small studio with little furniture,” Anna says apologetically.

“Jo has my extra room,” Samandriel says nodding towards her.

Castiel watches as Balthazar rakes his eyes over Dean’s body. “I mean, Dean can definitely stay with me if he’d like. I have a small bed, but with how cold it’s supposed to be tonight we could keep each other warm. Heaven forbid if the power—” 

“Nope!” Dean interrupts, backing up slightly. “I mean, uh, thanks and all but, uh, I have no problem sleeping in my car, you guys. It would just be for a few more nights until I can find a place that’s affordable.”

“What part of ‘nasty’ don’t you understand, Dean-o?” Meg asks, glaring. “Your dangly bits could fall off.”

“I, um, no,” Dean says, giving Castiel a pleading look.

“You can stay with me,” Castiel suggests. “I have a couch and my apartment isn’t far. Besides I feel somewhat accountable for everything, so please let me make it up to you.”

Dean opens his mouth, but Castiel raises his hand again. “It would ease my mind and make me sleep better knowing you have a warm place to sleep, and food in your—”

Castiel’s eyes grow wide and he looks Dean up and down. If he’s been sleeping in his car, has he even been eating? Racking his brain, he cannot even remember exactly how Dean looked when he auditioned to see if he has lost any weight. Fuck, when did he get so preoccupied with himself that he just stopped caring?

“I eat,” Dean chuckles. 

Oh, thank fuck. Even if he isn’t entirely sure he believes Dean, he is still functioning fairly well. With Dean living with him he can make sure he is at least fed properly. “It’s settled, then,” he says, ignoring Meg’s heated eyes. “You will come home with me at the end of the day, after your private lessons.”

“Excuse me, my what?”

“I haven’t had a chance to work with you one and one and get you up to speed with the rest of us. I simply expected you to know what the rest know, and already be at our pace. I am amending that now. Instead of cleaning, you and I will have private lessons until I feel you are where I need you to be.” He turns to Dean and tilts his head in question. “If, of course, you have nothing better to do.”

He watches a slow grin that spreads over Dean’s lips, and it fills him with warmth like watching the sun rise. “I’ll have to check my schedule, but I’m sure I can fit ya in.”

Meg groans and brings her foot down hard, making the noise echo throughout the room. “If you two are done being disgusting, mind if we get back to actually doing something useful?”

“Meg,” Castiel says sternly. 

She rolls her eyes, tipping back on her heels, spinning back to face Balthazar and the wall of mirrors. 

“She always this pleasant, or am I just that lucky?” Dean asks.

“I would actually like to do something productive with my time instead of listening to you two idiots talk all morning. If I’m forced to get up at such ridiculously early hours, whatever I’m doing better be worth my time,” she snaps before moving her feet to the steps they were just going over. 

Whatever her problem is, Castiel knows that bringing it up with everyone around is a bad idea. He sighs and walks back to the front of the class, promising to make time to talk to Meg before she leaves for the day. 

Meg storms out of the studio right as Castiel reenters from his private lessons with the older couple. Balthazar calls the class to an end, mumbling something about teenagers and wondering how he got talked into teaching. Kevin’s bag is already missing, which means he’s down with Rowena and the younger kids already. How late is it? Castiel looks up to the clock on the wall and suddenly feels that more drained.

Despite the draft leaking into the studio, Castiel shucks off his sweat soaked shirt and angrily tosses it against the wall. Meg has always been a little rough around the edges, but she’s never been so hostile with him before. He obviously isn’t doing something right, anymore. 

_ If I ever was, _ he thinks sourly. 

He walks over to the window where his coffee mug still sits, glaring out at the snow flurries flying past underneath the streetlight. Behind him he hears the murmurs of goodbyes and conversation between his friends. No one tries to speak with him, and he lets out a long sigh, fogging up the window. When did he become so unapproachable? They all use to be so close. Wasn’t it a few weeks ago they were just celebrating finishing another successful production?

Castiel feels his forehead scrunch up as he tries to remember the date. Has it really been almost two months? That can’t be right. He mentally tries to calculate the days in his head when he hears movement behind him. Cool air seeps out from the old windows as another gust of wind blows. Castiel feels goose bumps spreading over his sweaty skin and gives off a tiny shiver. 

“How do ya want me?” A teasing voice says behind him. 

Some of the tension Castiel didn’t know he was holding releases as he huffs out a laugh. “Flirting with the teacher will not make you dance any better.”

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” quips Dean. 

Castiel shakes his head, turning around to face the man. Dean stands a few feet away, plucking at his sweaty black tank top that clings to his chest like a second skin. For a moment, Castiel has the sudden urge to grab a hold of the shirt and rip it off the man’s body, only to press his own against the man’s freckled chest and pick up where they left off yesterday. He feels warmth spreading over his neck, and averts his eyes quickly to where his shirt lays. Castiel suddenly begins wondering if it would be better if maybe he was fully clothed. 

Dean stands a few feet away, looking completely relaxed and at home in the room. Castiel envies the man’s ability to look so at peace here. Lately, when he enters, all he feels is a strong sense of stress. Dean begins humming some tune Castiel doesn’t recognize as he stands there, debating putting back on the damp, gross smelling shirt so he doesn’t feel so exposed. 

“So, this whole ‘love’ theme thing you said we’re doing…” Castiel looks away from the shirt over to Dean, who looks like he’s searching the ceiling for the right words to say.

“What about it?” he asks, glancing up at where Dean has his eyes fixed. 

“I dunno. I just was wondering if maybe there was something deeper to it.” Dean shrugs and lowers his gaze back to him.

Giving up on the disgusting shirt, Castiel walks over to the center of the room and begins loosening up his legs. “What do you mean by ‘deeper’?” 

“Really?” Dean huffs. “Huh.”

Castiel pauses, arms stretched up in the air, narrowing his eyes back over to the man who has his hands stuck in his pockets looking back at him with a look he might call disappointment. His mind begins filling with all sorts of responses and excuses. He lowers his arms, thinking of how to explain everything to where Dean can just understand what kind of situation he is in, he’d understand. 

“I mean, I just thought there’d be more to it.” Dean continues, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “When I first saw you dance, it made me want to—I don’t know—do better, you know? It made me want to push myself to become as good as you.” Dean rubs his neck nervously, looking off towards the doors. “Your ideas and the way you moved just kinda…” He shrugs. "Your stuff always made me feel shit.”

Castiel stares at him blankly. Is Dean saying he’s lost his touch? Panic starts to bubble up as Castiel thinks of something, anything, to say that will prove he’s still the same as he was when he founded this place. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Castiel closes his mouth, clearing his throat in an attempt to pass off his unresponsiveness. 

Dean glances over to him, staring at him like he’s got all the answers to the universe. For a moment all Castiel wants to do is let his façade of control and confidence slip. The urge to confess everything is almost overwhelming. The confession that he has absolutely no idea what to do for the next show is so strong he has to clench his jaw to stop the words. For once, he wants nothing more than to vent out his concerns and fears, in hopes that maybe the weight of everything might not feel like it’s crushing him. 

A deep pain in his chest he hadn’t noticed before begins to spread upwards, making his throat feel tight. The weight of losing everything he has created, the name he has made for himself, suddenly feels so heavy he feels his legs actual tremble slightly. 

His lips part in a shaky gasp of air as he drops his eyes to the floor. “I have no idea what to do.” 

The words come out a whisper, almost so quiet he almost hopes Dean hasn’t heard. He can’t bring himself to look up, even if he wanted to. He barely knows Dean, and here he is admittedly confessing he has no fucking clue how to prepare a show that is steadily creeping closer. 

Maybe his mind is subconsciously thinking that saying the words would make him feel less guilty. Maybe he thought admitting it would magically make everything fall into place, and ideas would fall from the heavens. Maybe a part of him just wanted to utter the words out loud because if he held them in any longer he’ll explode. Whatever his fucked up, scattered thought process is, nothing has changed.

The silence stretches uncomfortably. The realization of what he whispered starts sinking in, and with that, the fact that Dean has been silent for God knows how long while he’s been having his mental freak out. Castiel slowly raises his head, eyes falling back onto Dean’s face.

A soft smile is over his perfectly pink lips, head tilted to the side like he’s been trying to catch his gaze for awhile. “Feel better?”

For a moment, Castiel just stares at him. A bubble of laughter escapes his mouth unexpectedly, even making him jump a little. “Was I that obvious?”

Dean shrugs. “Haven’t been here long enough to really tell you what the other guys think, or how you usually do things. The only thing I noticed was how you dance.”

“How I dance?” Castiel asks trying to remember the last time he actually danced something for himself. He’s pretty sure that it was before Dean came into the picture. 

“The first time I saw that video of you it was…” Dean waves his hand in front of him. “Anyway, your movements are stiff or even forced compared to then. You just really don’t seem to be feeling it. It’s almost like the video you and you standing right here are two different people.” 

He doesn’t need to think about the comparison. He gets exactly what Dean is seeing. Even Castiel can admit that he hasn’t been feeling dance like he used to. Maybe it should scare him, put the heavy weight back on his body, but it doesn’t. Castiel stands there, looking back at the man and just feels lighter, somehow. He is very aware that this just might be his body going into shock with the reality of the situation. 

“I get that,” Castiel replies, running a hand over his face. His stubble from the day rubs roughly against his hands, almost telling him the hour of the night. 

Dean smirks a bit, sticking his hands back into his pockets. “So, did the world end? Piano fall on your head?”

Castiel gives him a confused look.

“You seem like one of those guys that thinks admitting a weakness means the worlds gunna end or something.” Dean chuckles and takes a few steps closer to him. “I know I’m new, practically a nobody compared to everyone else, but you gotta admit that it feels a little bit better getting it out.”

“You aren’t nobody, Dean. You are a part of our team, thereby making you apart of this dysfunctional, yet somehow working family.” Castiel rolls his shoulders back and can practically feel the tension slipping off him like a blanket. “But, to answer your question, yes. It does feel good.”

Dean gives him a soft smile and nods. “Happy to help.”

The silence falls back over them, but it doesn’t feel as heavy as it had moments ago. Dean shifts his feet again, knees popping making Castiel chuckle a bit. Dean shoots him a look before rolling his eyes and walking over to look out at the window. 

“It’s only fucking October,” Castiel hears him mumble.

“Just a little colder than normal,” Castiel replies, walking over to the window and standing beside Dean.

They stare out at the flurries whipping past the window, streetlight swaying back and forth in the wind. Another gust hits the glass, and he feels Dean’s body shiver beside him. Castiel tightens his fingers into a fist to stop himself from wrapping his arms around Dean. What is wrong with him? He wouldn’t even do something like that with Balthazar. He tries not to think too much about the fact this man has brought out more feeling in him in the past few days he’s been here, than anyone else has in his entire life. 

Through the unseen cracks, another sliver of cool air finds its way in. Dean rubs his arms roughly, glaring out into the night. “Of all the places in the world, why the fuck did you pick Chicago?”

“Gabriel,” he says fondly, watching a taxi speed past.

“He lived here?” Dean asks.

He hums in response, eyes still focusing outside the window. Castiel leans his body against the wall, crossing his arms across his naked chest, letting a smile spread across his face. 

“He did—does,” Castiel says. His eyes catch the edges of the windowpane beginning to fog from where his body is too close. “Gabriel lives in an apartment downtown, working for the newspaper. I’m rather fuzzy on how he actually affords it, though I suppose I’ve never really asked. It’s probably safer for my sanity that I don’t.”

“And you live down here?” 

Castiel shrugs his free shoulder. “Chicago is always so busy. Loud. Downtown there is so much more noise, lights, and people are always coming and going. Why would I want to live deeper in the chaos than I am already in?”

“What a minute, you’re from New York, and you’re complaining about Chicago?” Dean asks. “Shouldn’t Chicago be better or something?”

Castiel chuckles, resting his head back against the cool wall. His eyes slip close just enjoying the coolness against his warm body. “I suppose someone from Kansas might think that. This all must be quite the culture shock for such a small town boy.”

“It’s not like I haven’t ever been to a big city before.” 

Castiel opens his eyes slowly, raising an eyebrow to the man scowling out the window. The way he is sulking is bordering on adorable. “I didn’t mean to insult your feelings.” 

Dean gives him a pointed look before leaning back against the wall, staring out at the studios empty space. “I went to school in Oklahoma City. Nothing like Chicago or New York, but still bigger than my hometown.” He huffs and glares out the window. “And it’s never this fucking cold in October.”

Castiel chuckles as he pushes off the wall and walks over to his now slightly cold, but still very damp, shirt. “Maybe it’s just Chicago’s way of welcoming you to the city.” 

“Well, she could’ve saved it until I got a few paychecks under my belt,” Dean grumbles.

“Why don’t we take a pass on tonight?” Castiel say, grimacing as he shrugs on the shirt.

“Giving me permission to play hooky for the night?” Dean teases. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

Castiel rolls his eyes walking towards the door. “Get your stuff together, shut off the lights, and meet me downstairs by the door. I need to go to my office to grab my things and then we can leave.”


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel climbs the last few stairs, turning towards the right down the long, narrow hallway. He pauses outside of his door, rubbing the key between his two fingers waiting for Dean to catch up. Glancing down the hallway he sees the man trying to catch up, panting, and carrying his two duffle bags. He offered to carry one of them, but Dean had insisted that he could manage. Who is he to hurt Dean’s pride? Watching him try and manage them, while not slipping on the wet slushy sidewalk was probably the most entertaining thing to happen to him today.

Castiel unlocks his door, opening it up widely and walks in. His fingers find the light switch easily, and the bright light flickers on above the kitchen directly to his left. A sudden rush of nervousness hits him as he looks around and sees his cluttered sink full of coffee cups. Maybe he should have cleaned up a little before inviting Dean to stay with him. He didn’t think he was messy per se, but looking around his apartment has him second guessing himself.

Dean stumbles in beside Castiel, dropping one of his bags by the door with a heavy thud. He lets out a slow whistle, eyes wide as he looks around taking in the apartment, letting the door close behind him.

“Damn Cas, livin’ the good life,” he says, stepping into the little space Castiel calls his kitchen.

Castiel furrows his forehead, tilting his head and looking at his living room. “I…I don’t understand. I live on the third floor and there are bars on my windows.” He waves his hand towards his living room. “I live above two other people, and one of them has an annoying dog that barks in the middle of the night, waking everyone up.”

Dean rolls his eyes and drops his other bag, shutting the door behind him. “Better than I got right now. S’pretty nice considering it being Chicago and all, too.” He steps into the kitchen running his hand over the four burner gas stove. “You got a nice kitchen. Looks like newish appliances.”

Castiel opens his mouth to reply just as the automatic deadbolt lock latches, causing Dean to jump. “What the fuck is that!?”

He feels his face heat as he clears his throat to reply. “The, uh, um, automatic lock I had installed when I moved in.”

“Automatic lock…” Dean looks at the door then back to Castiel slowly.

“I work late. When I come home I usually just fall into bed,” he explains, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I don’t want to have to worry about if I did or did not lock the door, and get up to check. This way I know it’s locked and I can get my sleep.”

“S’cool, man,” Dean says, laughing. “Actually a really good idea. No judgment. Just scared the shit outta me.”

Castiel nods his head to the rest of the apartment. “I can show you where you’re sleeping.”

“Then you going to make me a home cooked meal to feel welcome, right?” Dean asks grinning and giving him a wink as he steps out of the kitchen beside Castiel in the living room.

Castiel feels the heat flare in his face again as he steps a few steps towards his brown couch. “Uh, well, the reason the kitchen looks so new is because I, um, I don’t cook much.”

Dean shrugs. “Just giving you crap, Cas. I don’t expect you to feed me on top of giving me a place to crash.”

True, he doesn’t  _ have _ to feed him. But still, Castiel feels like he needs to make sure Dean is taken care of and fed. It’s an odd feeling he really hasn’t ever had with any of his other friends. Even Meg (before they met) rarely found herself sleeping outdoors. She managed to get by with bouncing from one friends couch to the next. Still, none of this other friends had been sleeping in their cars, but something about this man just pulls at him. 

Castiel clears his throat and motions to the fridge littered with takeout menus. “How about some mediocre Chinese?”

Part of him doesn’t give a damn that he’s staring, because seeing this man’s face light up at the mention of food is probably the best thing he’s seen in months. Dean’s eyes crinkle around the edges as he lets out a chuckle, shrugging off his leather jacket. It’s hard to believe that someone who has been sleeping in his car for the past few weeks can look so carefree and happy.

“Sounds like the perfect first Chicago meal.” He chuckles. “So where am I crashing?”

First Chicago meal? Didn’t Dean say he had been eating? He’s been getting paid every week since he started just like everyone else, so where has the money been going? Castiel makes a mental note to ask him about it later.

“Right here,” he says, patting the overstuffed couch in front of him.

Castiel watches Dean’s long fingers run along the back of the couch slowly, stopping right before they touch his. “Bathroom is that door off to the left.” He lifts his hand from the couch and motions to the open door. “And the door to the right is my bedroom.”

Dean nods, looking down at the couch slowly. “Hopefully I’ll be able to find a place quick enough to be out of your hair. Seriously can’t thank you enough for this.”

Castiel shrugs, turning around and leaning against the back of the couch. “Take your time. Like you already know, I work long hours and am rarely home. Honestly, it is probably more of an imposition to have you sleeping on the couch. I’ll probably end up waking you up frequently with my comings and goings.”

“That your way of telling me to take the bed?” Dean asks wiggling his eyebrows. 

Castiel chuckles and shakes his head. “I enjoy my bed far too much to ever give that up.”

“Sharing is caring,” Dean says in a singsong voice, walking the few feet back to retrieve his bags.

Castiel shakes his head as he watches Dean bend over, ass deliberately up in the air, shaking it side to side. “How about that Chinese? What do you want?”

Dean stands up straight, nudging his bags further up on his shoulders. “Surprise me. If it’s alright with you, I’m going to take a quick shower before we eat.”

“Go ahead.” He walks over to the kitchen, pulling off a takeout menu stuck to the fridge by a pink magnet. “The hot water takes a bit to get warmed up, but once it does it lasts a long time. You can put your clothes to be washed in the hamper with mine. There are coined machines in the basement for use.”

“Dude, the water could never get hot and I’d still be in heaven.” Dean chuckles flipping on the light in the bathroom and looking around. “You have any idea how good this going to feel? You’re probably going to have to physically drag me out.”

“If you take too long I’ll just have to go ahead and eat your half of the food.” Castiel replies, leaning against the counter. “Let that be incentive enough for you.”

Dean laughs shaking his head back and forth as he digs through his bag taking out a smaller bag. Castiel assumes it’s his bathroom things. “Low blow blackmailing me with food, man.”

“It  _ is _ some of the best most average Chinese I’ve ever had,” Castiel deadpans. “You can hardly tell that you’re eating cat.”

Dean freezes digging through his bag, and looks over to him with wide eyes. It takes a second for Dean to get what he said, and his face breaks and laughter echoes out of the bathroom. Castiel actually starts chuckling after he watches the man kneel to the ground holding his side in a fit of laughter. Watching Dean smiling and looking so relaxed, laughing at such a lame joke Gabriel used to tease him somehow makes him feel happy. He can’t remember the last time he just went home without having to worry about anything.

After catching his breath a bit, Dean manages to stand up by using the doorknob as leverage. “You’re such an ass, Cas. Just order the damn food, and I’ll try to be out in a few hours.”

Dean swings the door shut and Castiel hears the shower start up seconds later. Remarkably, everything is going smoother than he thought it would go. The few people who have spent the night have complained about his lack of food and small apartment. Dean seems content just to have a roof over his head.

Playing with the corner of the menu, his thoughts drift back to last night with Dean. Dean hasn’t brought it up, though he supposes there really hasn’t been a chance to do so. Should he bring it up? What would he even say? Is what happened going to make things awkward between them? So far everything has been pretty easy going, and Dean hasn’t complained about the apartment or sleeping arrangements. Castiel sighs and sticks the menu back under the magnet on the fridge. He honestly hasn’t felt this relaxed in, well, he doesn’t know when. Usually he is dwelling on deadlines, routines, or finances. Fuck, he should probably be thinking about what the hell he is going to do.

With a groan, Castiel takes out his phone, pressing number four on the speed dial. He decides to just keep it simple and order double of what he usually gets until he can figure out what Dean cares for. On the third ring he hears Dean’s deep voice muffled by the shower and door. He takes a few steps closer to the door trying to make sure he isn’t asking for help with something. The deep voice becomes clearer the closer he gets. A slow smile spreads over his face as he realizes Dean is singing. Singing in his shower.

A warm feeling starts spreading throughout his chest that he just really doesn’t want to put too much thought into at the moment. Dean seems to have a pretty decent voice from what he can hear.

“Hello, Great Sea. Carry out or pick up?”

Castiel jumps back, startled by the voice coming from the phone he forgot is plastered to the side of his face. What is wrong with him lately, seriously?

“Hello? Hello?”

“Uh, carry out.” Castiel mumbles walking back into the kitchen, ignoring the voice coming from his bathroom. He needs to get a hold of himself before he does something stupid.

It has been two days. Two days since Dean has been sleeping on his couch. Two days since Dean has let him know his dancing has grown stale. Two days that he’s let Balthazar lead the class coming up with some excuse on having to critique Rowena’s idea for her class recital. Two days of successfully avoiding anyone other than a brief wave. Two days of managing to sneak in to his apartment well past a decent hour just to avoid having to actually see Dean awake, and two days of dragging his ass up earlier than he ever has just to avoid Dean in the morning.

He’s fucking exhausted. That is merely skimming the surface of what he’s feeling. If there is another word that could describe what he might be feeling, he would be that. Drained? Not even in the physical sense, though there is that too, but emotionally. His whole entire legacy and the income of so many of his friends is resting on his shoulders. He’s going to fuck it all up because he can’t get his head out of his ass for some ungodly reason.

Castiel’s eyes shoot open as his head bounces back up as it slips off his hand. Did he actually fall asleep reading over the music list? He shakes his head a bit and adjusts himself to something, hopefully, more uncomfortable. A knock at the door makes him jump.

“Balth cut class early,” Dean states, leaning against the frame.

Castiel looks at the clock, confused. It’s only eleven in the morning. Dean leans his head back and stares up at the ceiling contemplative. “There was some disagreement going on about going over last year’s steps, Balthazar teaching them, and the fact you don’t want anything to do with us anymore.” He rolls his head to the side, meeting Castiel’s eyes with a cold expression. “Gotta say, I have to kinda agree with the last one.”

Castiel rubs his face with his hands, flinching at the two day old stubble scraping across his skin. What was his thought process with just leaving them with Balthazar and disappearing? Did he think they’d hold out without question until he was ready to come back with some brand new, amazing ideas? What the hell did he think was going to happen?

“Did I…Did I do something?” Dean asks, pushing off the doorway and walking over to him. “I mean, I’m picking up after myself, I swear. I’m learning the steps as best I can but Balthazar really doesn’t give two shits what my feet are doing, to be honest.”

“Dean,” Castiel sighs, shaking his head.

“If it’s about the other night and things are weird, I can just leave. Honest, I won’t take it personally. I’m not going to let some stupid thing ruin your whole fucking business. I mean, I really don’t know what I was thinking. It was just the moment, or something stupid like a chick flick. Whatever, I was fucking stupid and shouldn’t have—”

“ _ Dean _ .” Castiel says a bit louder.

Castiel watches Dean’s mouth snap close as a flush spreads across his face. His green eyes glare angrily down at the floor as Castiel tries to catch up on everything going on. Does he seriously think what he is doing is because of him or that night? How Castiel has been running his business somehow his fault? For fuck's sake, this is exactly why he shouldn’t get involved with his coworkers.

With a heavy sigh he stands up from his desk. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I told you from the beginning you wouldn’t see much of me.”

“I get that. The whole running a business thing with long, weird hours, I get it.” Dean nods his head, glancing up at him. “But according to the guys—your  _ friends _ —you’ve never just not, not danced before. Apparently it’s unheard of for you not to be there. You’ve never passed them off to someone else.  _ Ever _ .”

Castiel is very unprepared for just how cold Dean’s glare truly is. No matter how much he wants to deny everything Dean is saying, that would be lying. It’s true. All of it.

“They feel like they’ve fucked up or done something wrong. Kevin was up there having a mental breakdown because he thinks you’re going to fire him because he can’t master the fouette!” Dean waves a hand at the ceiling. “Meg nearly gouged Balthazar’s eyes out! I heard Anna and Bartholomew whispering about a circus, whatever that’s about. I won’t even get into what the rest of them are saying. But seriously, Cas! It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what the only difference has been.”

Castiel slams his fist on the desk in frustration. “You aren’t the problem, Dean! I am!”

“The only thing that has fucking changed is me coming into the picture!” Dean’s voice rises, bordering on yelling as he gestures to him and then back to himself almost frantically. “You were doing just fine, and I’m not going to have it hanging over my head by staying here that I’m the reason you lost your friends and went under!”

“It isn’t you! This has nothing to do with you!” Castiel snaps.

“That isn’t the general consensus from everyone else!”

“And now you speak for everyone else? You’ve been here barely even a month, and you’re the voice of the group?” Castiel walks around his desk, stepping closer to Dean. “Why haven’t any of the others decided to state their opinions?”

“They all went home because everyone is too pissed to even look at you! You’ve been half assing everything for weeks, and the only thing in this whole situation that is different is—”

“I have no ideas on what to perform!” Castiel yells, glaring angrily back at Dean who looks like he just got slapped. “Is that what you want to hear? That I have less than a week to come up with an idea for our performance in February? There is everyone else’s routines, not just ours, to go over. The whole entire company is waiting for me to announce some amazing idea. Everyone’s job, their income, is on my shoulders and I have come up with literally nothing but some cock-and-bull one word idea because of the fucking month, ‘ _ love _ ’.” He angrily uses air quotes, spitting out the word, still glaring back at the man.

“Is that what you wanted to hear? The person you saw dance back in school and wanted to be as good as is just a washed up nobody. I’m not anybody important, and never have been! And because of me failing as your boss, your piss poor excuse for a teacher, you are going to lose a job you literally just started.” And just like that, Castiel feels everything inside him deflate like a balloon. He hangs his head, turning around to rest his hands on the edge of his desk. “I can’t even pull it together to face the people I call family because I fear their disappointment. That’s how pathetic I am.”

His heavy breathing and the annoyingly loud ticking of the clock on the wall are the only sounds between them. He distantly hears the sounds of muffled music playing from Rowena’s classroom as his eyes flick across his disaster of a desk. Behind him Castiel hears Dean’s shuffling and then silence. He probably took the opportunity to leave. Castiel can’t even blame him. He lets out a long breath, pushing off his desk straightening up. 

“So love, huh?” Dean says behind him.

Castiel turns around blinking at the man who is now standing closer to him, hands in his pockets looking completely unfazed.

“I mean, the word itself leaves you with so much room to play with.” He shrugs and looks over at the filing cabinet against the wall. “The love I have for my brother isn’t the same kind that Anna has for Bartholomew. Same for your love for everyone here. It’s all different.”

Castiel just stares at him. He is completely baffled to why he is still here, and hasn’t taken the chance to run when he could. Was he not clear enough in what he said? Maybe Dean misheard him.

Dean shifts his feet and looks over at him. “I dunno, Cas. It seems like to me you chose an okay type of idea, just didn’t present it well.” 

He shook his head slowly, trying to adjust to the fact that Dean is still standing in his office, he sighs. “I really don’t think you understand. I don’t think that the word is much of an idea. It was just something I pulled out of my ass to by some time before I could think of something to actually do.”

“Really?” He chuckles. “You didn’t even think of the possibilities with it?”

Why does it always seem like Dean laughing at him? “It’s just a word associated with little hearts, an angel wearing a diaper and chocolate.”

Dean raises his eyebrow and actually has the decency to look surprised. “That’s Valentine’s Day, Cas. I think you’re getting ‘love’ confused with an actual day.”

Ignoring a flare of embarrassment, he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against his desk, ignore the sound of papers crumpling. “Same thing, I’m sure. The idea of love is based around those same things.”

Dean gives him a confused look and opens his mouth to say reply. Castiel watches as he runs a hand over his face, shaking his head in his hands. Maybe now he understands what he has been trying to get across this whole time.

“Have you even tried asking everyone what they define love as? Asking them for their ideas on how they might show it?” Dean asks. “You gave them the general idea on what you want, right? Just tell them to show their definition of love in their own way. Everyone would have something different and you’d have a show. Something no one else can ever have.”

His mouth he already has open to shoot whatever Dean was going to say down remains unmoving, his voice completely silenced. In a matter of minutes, Dean has just given him what he’s been stressing over for months. Just like that, he has everything he needs.

Castiel clears his throat, pushing off his desk, ignoring papers falling to the floor. “You just…I have been trying to…” A laugh bubbles up and escapes past his lips. He ignores Dean’s eyebrow raised in question. “You have no idea what you’ve just done, do you?”

Dean glances around the office, a slight pink flushing over his face as he rubs the back of his neck. “I haven’t done anything, man. I just…” He waves his hand around and then shoves them into his pockets roughly giving a shrug.

Castiel walks over and grabs Dean’s shoulders roughly. He ignores the surprised noise he makes as he gives him a little shake, laughing, and practically throws Dean against his chest squeezing him tightly. “You may have just saved my whole entire business. You saw what I couldn’t, and have just come up with everything we needed.”

Dean’s hands slowly slip around his waist and give a gentle squeeze in response. Castiel slowly pulls back, his eyes roaming over the beautiful man’s red flushed face that somehow makes his freckles stand out much more. It’s adorable. He feels his smile grow, and is almost overwhelmed with the urge to kiss this man.

Giddy. Castiel feels giddy, like the weight of everything sitting on his shoulders is finally off and he feels like he could fly. He squeezes Dean’s shoulders once more, and turns to look for his cell phone somewhere buried under papers on the desk. 

“I have to text everyone ask them to come back. I need to tell Rowena to scratch these ideas.” He picks up a few scattered papers and moves them to the side. “I have to call Gabriel and tell them that we have an official idea that he can print. We need to figure out what music everyone is going to dance to, and oh!” Castiel sees his phone sitting underneath his keyboard and grabs it. “I need to give Charlie a heads up that she’ll be needed sooner rather than later.. I need—”

“Whoa there, cowboy. Take a breath,” Dean says, touching his shoulder. “First things first, okay? I think you might want to start out with an apology.”

And just like that he floats back down to earth from the high he was sailing on. That’s right. Everyone is upset with him because of how he’s been acting. He slumps his shoulders and picks at the edges of his cell phone case, staring down at the black screen. Castiel honestly wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t want to dance for him anymore. He hasn’t exactly been the most together person since Gadreel left. Probably before that. He doesn’t really know when he started changing so much.

Castiel swipes his phone on and opens up their group message, typing out that everyone is to meet back in their room at one o’clock. That should at least give him enough time to work out what he’s going to say. He switches over to Gabriel’s number and gives him a quick text telling him that he can go ahead and print the article with their theme, along with announcing Dean as their new member.

“Secondly.” Dean’s voice cuts through the silence. “Who is Charlie?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t have met her yet.” He puts his phone back down, rolling his head over his shoulders, just letting everything loosen. “She’s in charge of our sound, costumes, music, lights, and all that electronic stuff I don’t understand. Basically she runs the stage and makes sure everything goes how it’s supposed to.”

His phone buzzes beside him and he glances down at it. He really doesn’t want to read anyone’s response. Most of all, Meg's, if any indication over the past week is anything, she probably won’t even bother showing up today. He can’t blame her, honestly.

“She sounds like one smart lady to handle all that.” Dean says clicking his tongue. “So, uh, I guess I got a few hours to kill before everyone comes back. Need anything?”

Castiel gives him a small smile and shakes his head. “You have already done so much, Dean. I feel like asking for anything more would be wrong.”

Dean’s eyes go wide before he ducks his head and stares at the ground. Castiel laughs as he watches his ears grow redder. “A cup of coffee would be nice.”

With a nod Dean ducks out the door just as his phone starts blaring the annoying fog horn ringtone Gabriel set up for himself months ago he hasn’t gotten around to changing, yet. With a sigh he reaches for his phone, bracing himself for a million questions.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel falls back into his couch with a grunt, listening to Dean’s singing trickle out from the bathroom as he showers. He hardly knows what to do with himself being home this early. It’s six o’clock in the evening, and after everything had settled down at the studio, his friends all but kicked him out. 

Apologizing had been the worst part of the whole day. Just as he expected, Meg didn’t show back up or even respond to the message. After explaining his thought process and actions, he apologized profusely. Everyone but Balthazar had forgiven him right away. His friend was hurt that Castiel hadn’t come to him with everything. He practically had to beg Balthazar’s forgiveness before the jerk started laughing and admitted he was forgiven and he just wanted to see him beg.

Letting everyone know Dean’s idea left them all surprised, and led into a good hour of asking questions. Bartholomew asked if they were allowed to choose their own music. Jo asked if they had freedom to choose whatever style they wanted. Anna kept asking in different ways if they were really allowed to present their take on “love” however they chose. It seemed like a hard concept to grasp for everyone that they had complete freedom to create their own dance. 

As the afternoon wore on, they all agreed to take a few days to come up with ideas about what they wanted to do, and Castiel would go over it with them. No matter what, Castiel would have final say in what everyone would do. He would still need to put it together in the performance in a way that everyone’s dance flowed and made sense. He told them that, as usual, they would be performing their usual group piece, and it would be considered his take on the word.

It was Balthazar who told Castiel to leave and not to set foot back in the studio for two days. Kevin agreed that he and Balthazar would take over teaching all lessons for the next few days. Everyone else backed up his suggestion with threats, telling him that a little break wasn’t going to make the place fall apart. Castiel tried to fight it, trying to explain how much there was to do and get ready now, but Balthazar wouldn’t even listen to him. Jo finally turned to Dean, who had been quiet the whole time, and threatened bodily harm on him if he let Castiel out of the apartment for any reason over the next forty-eight hours. She swore she would know if he let Castiel out of his sight. Even Castiel almost believed the feisty girl.

Castiel leans his head back against the back of the couch, listening to his roommate's voice lull him into some sort of half-conscious state. He hears the bathroom door open, but doesn’t even both lifting his head in acknowledgment. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel any real anxiety.. 

“So whatcha wanna do?” Dean asks. “It’s too early for bed. You wanna watch a movie?”

Castiel cracks open his eyes and peeks over at the man toweling off his hair. A stray drop of water from his hair falls onto his bare chest and he cannot help himself from staring. It trickles down his toned body, only to disappear at the waistline of Dean’s flannel pajama bottoms. He licks his chapped lips, mouth suddenly going dry, letting his eyes rake back up the man’s body slowly. 

Dean is staring back at him with a cocky grin, cheeks tinted with a faint pink. “I thought you don’t do that with coworkers.”

Castiel clears his throat and tries to subtly adjust his pants that are now a bit too tight. “Doesn’t mean I cannot enjoy the view.”

“So basically it’s a look but no touching policy?” He laughs and tosses the towel into the hamper just inside Castiel’s room. “You know I can have some real fun with this, right?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Don’t be an  _ otrod’ye _ .”

Dean laughs and sways his hips slowly walking towards the couch. Castiel’s eyes drop down to where his pajama pants are slipping down lower on hips with every step. With a groan he rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. “You did that on purpose.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” Dean replies innocently as he plops down on the couch next to him.

Caught up in his own thoughts, Castiel doesn’t notice or mind the silence until he glances over to Dean and sees him picking at a string from the blanket draped across the side of the couch. 

He clears his throat and turns a little towards Dean. “So what are you thinking you might do for your dance?”

Dean shrugs and flicks the string. “No idea. Never really been in love, you know? I guess I would probably have to do something for my brother.”

“You and your brother are close?” Castiel asks.

“Used to be,” Dean says, forehead creasing in what seems to be confusion. “We used to talk at least once a week, if not more. Now every time I call he doesn’t answer. I mean, I get it, he’s busy. He got into a really good college; Stanford, of all places. He’s a smart kid. Really smart.” A huge smile spreads across his face and Castiel cannot help but smile back. “He’s going to be some important lawyer and save the planet. He deserves a good life after everything.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow at the last comment. He wonders if asking what he meant would be prying too much. Still, he cannot help his curiosity at the statement that has Dean’s face falling into something solemn again. He already misses Dean’s smile. 

“It sounds like you care for him very much.” 

Dean smiles a little, going back to picking at the string. “Practically raised the kid. Jus’ miss him.”

“No parents?” Castiel asks, tilting his head.

Dean laughs a little, the smile not quite reaching his eyes and flicks the string again. “We had a dad, I guess, if that’s what you’d call him. He was always wasted when he happened to be around. Mostly he was just gone, which was fine with Sammy and I. He wasn’t the most lovey dovey kinda guy.”

Naomi wasn’t the best mother in the world, and Lord knows she hasn’t won any Mother-Of-The-Year awards, but she didn’t just up and abandon Gabriel and him. She just wasn’t the most affectionate of people. It was fine, though. It just made him work harder as a child to try and win her affections. It wasn’t until he was leaving for college when he realized nothing would ever be quite good enough for the woman. 

As much as Castiel is trying to keep his face blank, Dean must see something over his features. He shakes his head and goes back to the string. “Don’t look at me like that, Cas. It wasn’t all bad. Ellen took us in after…well, just after.” He waves his hand, and stands up abruptly. “She practically adopted us, took care of us and all that.” Dean points to the kitchen. “Beer?”

Castiel nods and readjusts on the couch as Dean walks off to the kitchen. “I’m glad you had a mother type to nurture you.” 

The sound of Dean in the fridge grows quiet. The neighbors dog barks a few times and then Castiel hears the refrigerator close softly. Dean hands him a bottle, and sits back down taking a long drink from his own. Castiel takes a sip and watches Dean’s throat move as he swallows the liquid. 

More than half the bottle is gone when Dean stops drinking, and starts picking at the label. “I remember my mother.” He whispers so quietly Castiel almost doesn’t hear him over a siren passing on the street. “She’s the reason I started dancing.”

Castiel glances back over Dean and his hands twitch to reach out and touch him. Offer him any type of comfort. He just looks so sad. And if he’s learned anything from their conversation so far, it is that Dean’s mother must have died early on in his life. The light that usually illuminates Dean is gone, and it bothers Castiel like an itch he can’t quite scratch. He wants to do something—anything—to see the man smile. 

“What was she like?” he asks.

Dean smiles a little, looking down at the peeling label of his beer. “She always wore these flowing summer dresses. Whether we were in the kitchen cooking, or dancing in the studio at the edge of town, she was always wearing one. Her hair was yellow like corn silk.” He smirks up at Castiel. “That’s the stringy stuff on corn when you husk it, for you city folk.”

“I may be from the city, but I’m not an idiot,” he replies flatly, taking a drink from his bottle.

“Hey, you never know with you fancy people and your fancy takeout menus.” Dean chuckles leaning back against the couch, a little bit more relaxed.

“Dean?” 

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Your mother sounds very beautiful.” 

Dean tilts his head, smiling down at his beer. “Yeah…yeah she was.” 

“She taught you how to dance?” he asks, tipping the bottle back and finishing the last of it.

“She was always dancing. Whether she was tucking us in at night, cooking in the kitchen, or in the actual classroom, she was always swaying to some tune.” Castiel watches as Dean’s face falls and his lip starts to tremble. “Then there was a fire and—”

Castiel reaches over and grabs Dean’s shoulder in an awkward attempt to comfort him. Dean looks up at him unshed tears, and a small smile.

“Sorry. M’fine.” Dean says shrugging his hand off him. “I don’t do the whole talking about your feelings shit well. No idea where that all came from.”

Castiel nods and suggests they get something to eat. Dean’s face lights up at the mention of food and Castiel mentally kicks himself for neglecting his duty to make sure the man was eating properly. They decide on Chinese again, and Dean says he’ll choose the movie. He sheepishly informs Castiel he already hooked up his Netflix account to the TV during the time he was avoiding him. Then gives him a look and tells him how he can’t believe he’s never just “Netflix and chilled” before.

“Order whatever you got me last time. The cat was actually pretty good,” he says, winking.

With the order placed, Dean flips through movies on Netflix asking Castiel if he’s seen this (no) or that (no). Finally he just tells Dean he really hasn’t seen any movie or TV show in the past twenty years. Dance was and is his number one priority, and between school and starting his own business, he hasn’t had time to just “chill”. 

Dean snorts at the air quotes. “That’s not what I meant by ‘Netflix and chill’, Cas.” 

“Isn’t that meaning to hang out? Meg and the others often tell me I need to chill out once in awhile,” Castiel replies.

“I mean, yeah, but no.” Dean says flipping through a few more movies. “’Netflix and chill’ is kinda like an innuendo for come over and have sex.”

“Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot as his cheeks warm. The label of his empty beer bottle is suddenly really interesting. 

“Awesome! There’s Indiana Jones!” Dean says laughing and drawing his attention to the screen. “Have you seen Star Wars? Seriously!? Cas, it’s a fucking classic! After this we have to…”

Castiel sits back and listens to Dean go on about movies until the door buzzes with their food. In between mouthfuls of noodles and chicken, he learns that one of Dean’s first celebrity crushes was Harrison Ford, that the force needs to be with him, and that the only suitable movie to watch on Christmas is Die Hard. 

After the food is finished Castiel goes to his room to change into pajama pants and a worn white shirt. He comes out to see Dean busy cleaning up dinner and decides to use the bathroom before sitting back down on the couch as he watches the Netflix screen fade to black. Dean joins him a minute later, handing him another beer. 

“You’ve never really just come home and watched a movie, have you?” he asks, taking a pull from the bottle. 

Castiel watches as Dean’s tongue comes out and catches a drop that escaped on his lips, and swallows thickly. “Uh, no. I really do work all the time. When I come home I usually crash.”

“I was actually surprised you had wifi, to be honest.” Dean says nodding to the TV.

“There are rare occasions I need the internet for music and work,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes. “I’m not completely in the dark ages.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have a giant boom box and a few hundred CDs of classical music just laying around.” Dean chuckles, nudging him with his shoulder. When did they end up sitting so close together? 

“I’m not that bad.” He rolls his eyes and takes another drink. 

“Oh you are  _ so  _ that bad. You didn’t even know who the 2Cellos were!” 

Castiel scrunches up his nose and downs the last of his beer, glaring at him without heat. “You make it sound like they’ve been around for years.”

“They have!” he exclaims, bursting into a fit of laughter.

“I don’t think it’s that funny,” Castiel mumbles, placing his empty bottle next to Dean’s. 

“I just realized,” he manages to get out between laughs. “You let everyone pick their own music. I can’t imagine the different types of music you’re going to have to listen to and go over!” 

Castiel blinks and scrunches up his face again. “I guess I really didn’t think that part through.”

“Oh man, this is going to be great!” Dean chokes out between more laughter. 

“And I suppose you are well versed in all genres of music, then?” he asks, getting up and going to the kitchen for more beer.

He hears Dean take a deep breath, probably trying to compose himself, and chuckle a few times. Castiel walks back to the couch and hands Dean another bottle. He plops back down next to Dean on the couch, hyper aware that their knees bump together slightly. 

“I know enough about this and that, yeah.”

Castiel eyes him for a beat while taking a sip. He’s probably going to regret asking but if Dean could possibly help him in broadening his musical knowledge, then it will be worth it. For his business, of course. “What are some of your favorites?”

Dean tilts his head for a minute as he contemplates. A moment later a wide grin spreads over his face. “I got a better idea. How about I show you?”

He pulls out his phone and opens it to YouTube. Dean props it up against an empty bottle and scoots a little bit closer to Castiel. Their arms brush together as Dean pulls up a 2Cello video. Castiel lets himself get lost in the intensity of the two men moving their bows over the strings. 

Castiel relaxes against the comforting warmth of Dean as he takes him on a very wide introduction to music he enjoys. They go from 2Cellos, to Lindsey Sterling, to Florence and The Machine, to Led Zeppelin, and a few more he can’t seem to remember. Dean doesn’t bother pausing the music when he gets up to use the bathroom or grab them more to drink. He simply sways his hips, humming or singing along to the music. 

By the time Castiel notices the time, he’s very pleasantly buzzed. He stands up suddenly, knocking Dean’s hand off his thigh he hasn’t realized was there, and sways slightly. 

“I have to get to sleep. I have to be up in two hours!” He tries to walk around the table but bumps his toes into one of the legs and curses. 

“You aren’t going in tomorrow, remember?” Dean chuckles in front of him. How did he get there so quickly?

Castiel straightens and tries to tell his eyes to look up at his face, but they stay unmoved from the man’s beautifully freckled chest. He sways a little on his feet, fighting back the urge to lean forward and run his tongue over the man’s very pronounced collarbones. With Dean being as close as he has been all night Castiel hasn’t missed how he smells like his shampoo and body wash. Thinking about it with Dean in front of him makes every possessive bone in his body want to grab Dean and mark him properly so the world can see. 

His dick twitching against the very thin layer of clothing knocks him back to his senses. Castiel stumbles a bit forward from completely falling against Dean, and pokes him in the chest instead. 

“Mm, whatcha gunna do about it if I try and go?” 

Dean just chuckles and shakes his head. He reaches out and puts an arm over Castiel’s shoulders. He tries to spin away but knocks back into the couch and teeters between falling face first into it or backwards into Dean. Before Castiel can process anymore, a firm grip on his wrist yanking him backwards. He spins around and knocks into Dean’s chest. 

They stand there, chest to chest, eyes searching the other. Castiel watches as Dean licks his lips, and mirrors the movement. He feels himself starting to move forward and brings his hand up, grabbing Dean’s hip to steady himself. Dean’s breathing hitches slightly, but just enough to have his blood flowing south.

Castiel squeezes Dean’s side slightly, as if to ask permission, and lets himself fall the rest of the way into the man until their lips meet. It’s gentle, nothing like before. Dean presses into him more, his warm hands sliding up his arms until Castiel feels them buried in his hair. He opens his mouth, tongue tracing Dean’s lips. Dean opens his mouth with a tiny moan, gripping the back of Cas’ hair tightly.

His hands run over the man's chest slowly, taking in each curve of his muscles until he reaches his nipples. Dean lets out a small gasp as his thumb brushes over it. Castiel applies a bit more pressure, rolling the nub, flicking Dean’s tongue with his own. 

“No, no. Wait,” Dean gasps, pulling back. “We can’t do this while you’re drunk.”

Castiel rolls his eyes but lets his hands fall back to his sides. “I am not drunk. When you have a brother like I do, it’ll take more than a few beers to get me to the point where I’m not thinking straight.”

He watches Dean back away, biting those perfectly swollen pink lips he wants so badly just to taste again, and his forgotten dick twitches noticeably between them. Dean glances down then back up laughing as a beautiful blush floods his face. Castiel reaches down to adjust himself before shoving past Dean to his bedroom. 

“At least you got a bedroom to take care of your situation!” Dean calls out behind him. 

Castiel mumbles something before kicking the door closed and falling face first on his bed. He debates jacking off and being as loud as possible to try and get Dean to join him. Just thinking about Dean walking in while he’s touching himself has his dick throbbing painfully. He groans and rolls over, trying to will his dick down. It gives another defiant twitch against the thin layer of clothing. Castiel swears to himself and pulls them down just enough to get his dick free. He scoots up just enough to grab the lube off the bedside table, and after putting a generous amount into his palm, he begins stroking himself fast and hard. 

After a few minutes, he comes hard, unabashedly calling out Dean’s name. As he’s wiping himself off with whatever discarded item was on the floor by his bed, he hears his name being said, muffled from the door. He smirks to himself as he pulls the covers up. He’s out before the living room light clicks off. 

When Castiel wakes up he notices first that his pajama pants are halfway down, about to his knees. Secondly, his head is pounding like someone has been beating on it all night. He groans slips out of bed, fumbling to pull his pajama pants the rest of the way up, and slowly walks into the living room.

The room is lit in a pale midmorning light, and Dean is laying face down on the couch, gently snoring into the cushions. Castiel makes his way into the bathroom to relieve himself, get some pills for his head, and take a shower but takes a second to notice how clean the place looks compared to how they left it the night before. 

By the time he’s done and exiting the bathroom, he feels like a whole new person. The pounding in his head is almost gone, and the lingering smell of alcohol is washed from his skin. Castiel eyes his coffee maker on the counter and debates starting a pot. After standing in the middle of the living room listening to Dean sleeping, he decides to run down the block for breakfast. 

Forty-five minutes later he’s walking back in the door to see Dean hasn’t moved. Castiel sets both coffee cups on the table then lays the bag of greasy breakfast food next to them. Dean stirs a little, stretching out his legs and arms before cracking his eyes open. A lazy smile falls over his face as he blinks up at him. 

“Mornin’ sunshine.” 

Castiel smiles softly down at him. “Good morning, Dean. I got breakfast.”

He rolls his eyes and sits up, patting the spot beside him. “Thought Jo said no leaving the apartment.” 

Castiel grins and opens up the bag handing Dean his container and a plastic fork. “What she doesn’t know wont hurt her.”

“Cas, this looks amazing!” Dean says opening up the lid and immediately digging in. Before Castiel can even get his container out of the bag, Dean is shoving a bite in his mouth and moaning. “These are the best damn eggs I’ve ever had.”

He chuckles and opens up his container, taking a small bite, just enjoying watching Dean eat his food with gusto. As Dean nears the bottom of the container he sets down the container on the table and leans back against the couch, sipping his coffee.

“Uh, why are there keys in my food?” Dean asks holding up his fork with keys dangling at the end of them. 

“I think it’s about time the newest member of Steps has a proper set of his own,” he replies. 

Dean sets down his container and wipes the keys clean on a napkin. “So this is means…”

“You can come and go as you wish. No more waiting for me at the end of the night or me having to wait for you. You are off probation, and an official dancer at the studio.” 

Castiel doesn’t think he will ever tire seeing Dean smile. It is, by far, one of the greatest things he has ever seen in his life, and if he had it his way, Dean would always be smiling. The thought catches him off guard enough that he drops his eyes and fidgets with the edges of the cup lid. What the hell is going on with him? 

He knows there is an attraction to the man. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see how easy it is to look at Dean. But it’s more than that. Besides his friends, Castiel has never had someone in his space longer than for more than just a quick fuck. He’s never even had the desire to really get to know them. Be friendly, yes. Hell, he and Meg have known each other for years, but he still couldn’t tell you if she has any family. 

But with Dean he knows, and more than that, he wants to know. He wants to know everything about him. When Dean smiles he feels something warm spreading throughout him that he’s only felt when he dances. It scares the shit out of him. Kissing Dean is like a drug and even now, his eyes keep glancing down at those perfectly soft lips, knowing exactly how they taste. 

He swore he would never get involved with someone while he was working. He hasn’t and doesn’t have any time for it. But somehow what he has going on with Dean works. It’s nice to come home at night to someone. It’s amazing to have a conversation with someone and not have to be their boss for five minutes. It’s nice to just talk with someone about anything and everything, and not be judged. Castiel really can’t remember the last time he relaxed, and honestly it’s all because of Dean. The man’s easy going, lighthearted personality is infectious and Castiel is addicted. 

“This is, uh…” Dean rubs the back of his neck with one hand and stares at the set of keys in the other. “This is pretty cool. You mind if I call my brother? He’s going to flip when I tell him.”

Castiel nods and picks back up his container of food. Dean is already pressing the phone to his ear, jumping up from the couch and pacing back and forth between the windows. After a few times Dean pauses his steps and holds the phone in front of him, looking at it sadly. 

“Voicemail.” Dean stares at it a beat longer, thumbing along the edges of the phone before shrugging and pocketing his phone. “He’ll call later. It’s still early. He’s probably sleeping.”

“Maybe call Ellen and let her know?” Castiel suggests.

Dean blinks at him in surprise before dipping his head back in a laugh. “Can’t believe you had to remind me to call her! She’d probably kick my ass if I waited too long.” 

“Maybe finish your coffee first, then call?” Castiel says nodding to his unfinished coffee sitting beside his own.

“Good point. Coffee first.” Dean plops back down beside him and grabs his cup, bringing it up to his face and breathing in deep. “Hey Cas?”

He hums around a forkful of eggs, cheese and ham.

“Thanks. For everything.”

They started drinking entirely too early. Castiel couldn’t give you a time, only that it was shortly after Dean got off the phone with Ellen. The sun went down hours ago, and at some point between switching from a movie over to listening to music, Dean had ventured out and came back with more beer. 

Now they are both giggly tipsy. They’re both laughing as Dean jokingly dances around the living room in some poor attempt at a waltz so some uppity pop song. 

“No, no, no! Your form is all wrong!” Castiel laughs, pushing up from the couch. “Here, let me show you.” 

He stumbles around the coffee table and does a terrible excuse for a spin. Dean laughs and tries to copy the spin, but loses his balance and starts to fall. Castiel reaches forward, catching Dean against his chest right before he hits the coffee table. Dean’s laughter grows as Castiel chuckles along, helping the man stand up straight again. 

Their eyes catch each other, just like they’ve been doing all night, but the proximity is closer this time. Castiel feels his heart starting to beat a little fast as the pop song fades into the next one. Dean sways a little to the side as the slower paced song starts, and Castiel lets his arms slip down from the man’s shoulders to his waist. He smirks as Dean shivers a little, and then gives him an unheated glare.

They stand there, swaying back and forth like a couple of teenagers at a middle school dance for the rest of the song. When it fades out, they both walk over to the couch and collapse onto it. It may be the alcohol flowing in his veins, but Castiel cannot stop smiling. Dean is humming beside him with a grin across his face, head tipped back against the back of the couch. It’s all so easy with Dean being here, almost like they’ve been doing it for years. The warmth he’s been feeling in his chest all day spreads when he thinks about spending the next day with him like this, as well. 

A pounding from the floor below them startles both of them to their feet. “It’s past midnight and some of us have to work in the morning, asshole! Shut off that damn music or I’m calling the cops!”

Dean stares at Castiel with wide eyes right before the muffled sound of a dog starts barking. After a few moments of listening to the dog barking, the person underneath them starts yelling that he’s going to shoot the damn dog. That’s all it takes for Castiel burst out into a fit of laughter. 

By the time he catches his breath, he realizes Dean has turned off the music and is staring at him with a soft smile.

“I haven’t laughed like that in years,” he says, rubbing the tears gathered in his eyes from laughing. 

“Looks good on you, man. You should do it more often.” Dean leans over to grab some of the empty bottles from the table. 

Castiel knows that what he’s feeling isn’t just from the alcohol. In the back of his mind he is trying to match simple tidbits of dance steps with some of the songs Dean played for him. For the first time in a long time, he can feel the passion and excitement vibrating under his skin at actually wanting to dance. He is actually looking forward to returning to his studio and trying to create everything he envisions. 

And it is all because of this man. 

Castiel watches Dean drop the bottles into the garbage as the muffled arguing tapers off below them. The slightly worn, faded black band shirt Dean is wearing is pulled up slightly in the back exposing a flash of skin. Castiel’s eyes begin to drift over the man as he sways slightly. Dean switches off the light in the kitchen, and raises an eyebrow as he crosses the short distance back to him. 

“You good?” he asks. 

Castiel hums, giving him a small smile, swaying on his feet slightly. Below them the dog starts barking again, and they hear a door slam. Dean shakes his head, chuckling softly with his hands crossed behind his head. 

“I did warn you that the dog barks in the middle of the night,” Castiel points out, stumbling forward a few steps as his body leans forward. 

Dean reaches out at the same time, his warm hands grasping his shoulders to steady him. “Hey Cas, you sure you’re okay?” 

“Trust me when I say that Gabriel usually insists I drink far more than I have tonight. And it is usually straight vodka,” Castiel says, suddenly aware at how close they are standing. “Just…tired.”

He hears Dean’s breath hitch as their eyes lock. “Maybe you should get to bed,” he whispers, not moving or letting go.

All day they’ve been messing around and dancing (if you could even call it that) with each other. There is just something about it now; how the little space between them isn’t filled with laughter, music, or noise, it’s just…different. Whatever that feeling building inside him is, Castiel knows it has everything to do with Dean, and only Dean. This man has not only managed to unlock his passion for dance again, but Dean is somehow, in just being who he is, helping him rediscover himself. He truly had no idea how lost he was until Dean came in helped him fall back in love with what he does. Dance.

In just a matter of a few weeks, Dean has managed to slip into his life and tilt it off axis. Being with Dean isn’t like being with Balthazar, Bartholomew, or any of his other friends. It definitely isn’t like being with Gabriel. He doesn’t have to act like a responsible boss, constantly being concerned about having “too much” fun. He definitely doesn’t feel like he’s being looked at any differently or judged when he’s been with Dean these past few times. He doesn’t feel like he has to keep up an appearance or watch what he says. He can just be. Castiel can only count on one hand where he has ever allowed himself that, and the last time was maybe back in college with Balthazar. 

The bottom line is Dean treats him like a regular person. He isn’t Castiel, widely known choreographer and dancer. He isn’t Cassie, the little brother who has to try and impress his brother and keep his shit together. To Dean, he is still his teacher and his boss, and Dean gives him that respect at work, but he still isn’t afraid to call him out on any issues. For as short a time he has gotten to know Dean, it is very apparent the man does not tiptoe around any problems, but faces them head on. 

What time they’ve spent together has gotten Castiel to almost forget his problems. Dean has gotten him (albeit a bit forcefully) to properly relax. They have just simply been enjoying time together; doing what Castiel suspects is regular leisurely things. Something he can honestly say he’s never really done before.

No, this warm feeling spreading throughout his chest isn’t something he has ever felt before for anyone. What may have started out as just a simple physical attraction is now dipping dangerously into something a bit deeper. Something Castiel has never begun to imagine himself having, at least while he was still dancing. It is something he swore he could never give anyone, and even if it could, he wouldn’t know how. 

He should have seen it coming the moment he saw Dean dance. He should have known then how much this handsome, bright green eyed man was going to change him. Dean, completely unafraid of him, came in and without actually knowing any of the depth to the trouble Castiel was in, formed a solution in a matter of seconds. Just like that, Dean had made all the weight on his shoulders go away. He never judged or berated him for any of his failures lately. He just simply came in and tried to find solutions. This beautiful, talented man who almost wasn’t allowed to audition has just waltzed in and is slowly bringing him back to life. 

The moment he saw Dean Winchester dance, he was lost. 

Castiel parts his lips slightly, letting out a shaky breath as his eyes glance over the man’s flushed face. God, he looks beautiful with his freckles standing out against his still slightly summer-kissed skin. As his eyes drop down to Dean’s pink lips, his tongue comes out wetting them. He catches the pair of green eyes glancing down to his own chapped lips, and wets them absentmindedly.

Castiel is somewhat aware of his body is leaning forward, pressing into Dean, and that Dean’s hands are slowly moving across his shoulders, fingers sliding across the nape of his neck into the back of his hair. Castiel grips at Dean’s hips tighter as their foreheads gently bump together. Dean lets out a shaky breath, tipping his head up so their noses rub against each other. 

“Are you sure?” Dean whispers in a low, rough voice. 

A shiver runs over Castiel’s body that has nothing to do with any draft that his apartment may have. He squeezes Dean’s sides, closing any and all space between them. “Shut up and kiss me.” 

All it takes is slightly moving, tilting their heads to make their lips meet. When Dean’s kisses him, it is almost hesitantly. Pausing and debating about pulling away after a quick touch. Castiel leans into him, licking the seam of his lips. He slides his hands under Dean’s shirt to the small of his back, pushing their chests together firmly, taking the opportunity to push his tongue into Dean’s mouth as he gasps. 

Castiel feels Dean’s nails drag across the back of his neck, gripping a small handful of hair tightly, and cannot help the moan that falls his lips. He flicks his tongue against Dean’s, caressing it as he explores the man’s mouth. Dean’s grip tightens as he lets out a needy sound which only makes Castiel's steadily hardening cock twitch further to attention. 

Dean deepens the kiss, and Castiel feels himself beginning to lose his balance and pushes back from him, panting and blinking open his eyes. “Bedroom. Now,” he manages to rasp out, giving Dean a little push. 

It takes Dean a moment for what Castiel said to sink in. His hooded, dark eyes go wide with the sudden understanding, he stumbles backwards, hurrying to cross the space to Castiel's room. Castiel follows after, surprisingly making it the whole way without tripping over anything. 

Castiel takes a moment to watch Dean standing beside his bed, looking down at it as if unsure of what to do with it. He slips off his own shirt, tossing it somewhere on the floor before walking right behind Dean and wrapping his arms around his middle. He slips his hands under his shirt; letting his fingers brush over Dean’s toned stomach. Out of the corner of his eyes he watches as Dean’s eyes slip closed, head tipping to the side and back against Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel kisses and nips down his neck, the scrape of stubble against his own turning him on even more. He rolls his hips against Dean’s ass, smiling against the man’s skin.

Dean lets out little gasps of air as Castiel kisses up his neck to right behind his ear, while his hands roaming over his chest, pushing his t-shirt up slowly. His fingertips brush Dean’s nipple and the man arches against him, making the stifled moan. Castiel moves his body away from Dean just enough to tug off Dean’s shirt, and makes a little sound of pleasure as their skin meets. 

He takes Dean’s nipple in between his fingers and rolls it, wanting to hear any and all sounds he can pull from the man. The little sounds of pleasure coming from him are more strained. He glances over at Dean to see him biting his lip between his teeth. The flush from his cheeks has spread to down his neck, spreading across his chest where Castiel’s fingers are still rubbing and teasing his hard nipple. 

“I want to hear all the sounds I can pull from you,” Castiel whispers into his ear, licking along the outside. “I want to learn what makes you whimper and leaves you breathless.” He nips lightly on Dean’s earlobe listening to him gasp. “I don’t want you to hold back when I discover what makes you scream.”

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean moans, rocking back against his hard dick. 

Castiel kisses down his neck with wet, open mouthed touches as his hand drops lower until it fingers over the waistband of his sweatpants. Dean lets out another needy noise as Castiel dips his hand into the pants, pleasantly surprised to find the man isn’t wearing anything underneath. He lightly drags a finger over Dean’s dick, listening to the man gasp in a breath, pressing back against him enough to make him move backwards slightly. He wraps his fingers around him, just under the tip and gives a gentle squeeze causing a pornographic moan from Dean’s lips. His own cock twitches and he rocks his hips forward, seeking any type of friction.

“Do you have any idea how fucking hot you look flushed, and rubbing up against me, with my hand around your cock?” Castiel growls, loosely jacking Dean off with one hand, and rubbing his thumb against his nipple with the other. 

“Cas…Cas,” Dean pants, breathlessly. “Oh fuck!” he hisses, raising his arms, reaching behind them and digging them into Castiel’s hair. He forces Castiel’s lips back down on the certain spot on his neck that he was worrying. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

Castiel sucks on his neck harder, letting his teeth slightly graze the area, just taking in all the sounds Dean is unabashedly giving him. He keeps up the slow, loose pace with his hand as his other hand slides down to Dean’s sweatpants, trying to push them down. 

Before Castiel can catch up to what is happening, Dean has spun out of his arms, grabbed him and thrown him on the bed. Dean tugs at his sweatpants before his brain gets back online as he lifts his hips slightly, they slide off in one quick motion, catching Dean off balance so that he stumbles back. Castiel takes his own dick in his hand and gives it a few quick strokes, eyes never leaving the beautiful man standing in front of him. Dean’s eyes are wide, staring at him holding his dick, stroking himself, waiting for Dean to make the next move. 

“Lube and condoms, Cas. Where do you keep them?” Dean asks, giving his own pants a gentle tug before they pool down at his feet. 

Castiel taps the little table beside his bed with his foot, and nods to it. His eyes flick down to Dean’s cock bobbing free. The urge to taste the man in front of him becomes so strong he doesn’t realize he is sitting up until he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, legs on either side of a naked Dean who is mumbling swears, digging through his nightstand. Castiel leans forward, grabbing Dean’s still hard cock, and runs his tongue along the length.

“Fucking Christ!” Dean yells. Something bangs against the table then falls to the floor as his body jerks just enough away from him that he cannot lean forward enough to reach him. “Warn a guy next time.”

Castiel smirks up at him before reaching into the back of the drawer and pulling out the bottle of lube and a foiled package. Dean rolls his eyes and reaches for it. Castiel pulls it just out of his reach, causing Dean to give him an irritated look. He leans back down on the bed, motioning for Dean to come to him. 

If at all possible, Dean’s flushed cheeks darken as he climbs on top of Castiel, straddling him, their cocks rubbing together slightly. Castiel pushes up on his elbows as Dean bends down, their lips meeting again. The kiss is slower, almost shy, just bordering on intimate. A little warning goes off in the back of Castiel’s mind as tries to push it away. Instead he clicks open the bottle and squirts some of the lube onto his hand.

Castiel reaches down and wraps his hand around both their dicks, rubbing them together slowly. Dean makes a sound that gets lost inside in between their mouths before moving his hips in time with their strokes. Dean is barely kissing him, just letting their breaths pass over their lips as Castiel moves his hand a bit slower.

With Dean laying over him, it isn’t the best position to move his hand like he wants to. Castiel pushes up into Dean’s lips quickly, before letting go of them both, and grabbing the man’s sides to flip him over. Dean lets out a rush of air, blinking up at him with dark hooded eyes. 

He takes a moment to just take in the man lying back on his dark blue sheets, looking absolutely gorgeous. He knows he could quite easily get lost in trying to kiss every single one of the man’s freckles. The thought takes him a bit off guard, and he hesitates as he lowers himself to brush his lips against Dean’s again. He’s never been like this before, wanting more. He wants more than what he had with Meg. More than what he has with Balthazar. Panic begins to build up in him, and all he can hear is his heartbeat hammering loudly in his ears.

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut tightly trying to push the feeling away as his fingers fumble around the side of them for the lube. His fingers brush the bottle as Dean’s lips brush against his lower lip, then begin sucking on it. Castiel groans, body relaxing more into Dean’s.

“Knees up.” He mumbles, chasing the man’s lips with his tongue. 

Almost too enthusiastically, Dean’s knees are up before Castiel can squeeze out more lube onto his hand. He chuckles, pulling away to sit up between Dean’s legs. He kisses the man’s knees, one hand rubbing his thigh as his lubed fingers press between his ass to Dean’s hole.

As Castiel’s finger gently presses against Dean’s opening, the man whimpers and his thighs shakily opening up a bit more. He circles his rim a few times, getting lost in all the breathless noises coming from the beautiful man underneath him. Castiel squeezes out a little more lube and pushes his finger in slowly watching as Dean tips his head back against his bed, back arching slightly. He moves his finger inside the tight heat and out again slowly, kissing Dean’s inner thighs as they tremble. The more noises Dean makes, faster he thrusts his finger in and out of the man. 

Castiel glances up at Dean’s face as he grazes his teeth against his thigh. He gasps and Castiel takes the opportunity to push in his second finger. Dean moans, rocking his hips down on his hand, letting his legs spread completely apart—and fuck if that isn’t the hottest damn thing Castiel has ever seen. 

“Fuck, just look at you.” Castiel says as he begins to scissor him. Dean looks up at him with hooded eyes for a moment before he loosely grabs his dick and gives it a few quick strokes. “You look fucking beautiful all flushed out on my bed. Fuck, Dean. I want to fuck you so bad.”

He hooks his fingers just right and Dean arches back, letting out a cross between a scream and a moan. His cock bounces against his stomach leaving a smear of precum behind. Castiel leans down, licking it up, then circles Dean’s naval. Dean grabs his hair and guides Castiel’s head closer to his leaking cock. 

Castiel runs his tongue along the underside of the cock, following it as it twitches. Dean is gripping his hair tighter to the point it should hurt, but honestly it is just turning him on more. With Meg it was always gentle, even when they were “rough” it was never like this. Dean is pure masculine beauty, and even the musky male smell has his dick harder without being touched it ever has been before. 

“Cas, Cas, fuck. Please.” Dean pants above him. “Fuck me, please. I’m gunna fucking come. Jesus fuck, I need you in me.”

He pulls his fingers out of him slowly, sitting back admiring the beautiful man under him. Dean begins to prop himself up on his elbows as Castiel slams his fingers back into him, making sure to hit his prostate. Dean falls back with his name on his lips as Castiel stretches him a bit more. 

“Not yet,  _ prekrasnyy, _ ” he says, nipping against Dean’s shaking skin. “Not till you can take more.”

Dean grips a handful of his hair, pulling him upwards. Castiel obliges, coming willingly and lets their mouths smash together as he brushes Dean’s sweet spot again. 

“I’m ready. Fuck, I’m ready Cas! Please!” He shamelessly rocks down onto his hand as Castiel awkwardly pushes another finger into him. “Oh shit, yes! Right-right there! Oh fuck!” 

Castiel almost loses it right there as Dean’s dick brushes against his. His hips twitch forward on their own, rubbing against Dean’s as they both moan. 

“You look so fucking hot taking my fingers,” Castiel says, quickening his speed. The wet sound of his fingers moving in and out of him, and Dean’s sinfully hot moans under him has him throbbing painfully. “You’re so needy. You think you’re ready for my cock? You want me to fuck you hard into the bed?”

“Yes. Fuck yes, Cas,” he breathes, head tipped back against the mattress. “Need you. Wanted you so bad since we danced. Fuckkk, yes yes.”

Castiel rests his sweaty forehead against the spot where Dean’s shoulder meets his neck, and bends his fingers slightly to push against the spot again. Dean lets out something between a moan and a scream and that’s it for Castiel. He pulls his fingers out as he sits up, looking around desperately for the bottle of lube and condom. He sees something shiny off to the side of them, and grabs it, taring at the package with his teeth. He rolls on the condom quickly and fumbles with the lub, squirting a little too much into his hand. 

His eyes flutter closed, as his hand wraps around his cock, stroking it a few times. He is already so close thanks to the pornographic vocals from Dean fucking Winchester, he has to squeeze the base of his dick to settle himself a little. Castiel opens his eyes and rubs the rest of the lube over his hand against Dean’s hole. 

He leans back over Dean, positioning his dick against his opening, and slowly pushing himself in. They both gasp at the same time. Castiel freezes and squeezes his eyes shut trying to adjust to the tightness and warmth. He is barely even in the man, and already he’s about ready to come like some sort of teenager. He takes in a few deep breaths trying to calm himself, slowly edging in again. 

Beneath him, Dean is panting and at some point the man’s fingers have shot up and his nails are digging into his shoulders. He would be worried if he was hurting him, but the look on Dean’s face is nothing less than ecstasy. Finally, after an agonizingly slow pace, Castiel bottoms out.

“Move.” Dean groans, wiggling his hips. “Fucking move, Cas, or so help me I’ll—”

Whatever he was going to say gets cut off in a yelp as Castiel snaps his hips sharply. Dean digs his fingers into the back of his neck, pulling their mouths against each other. The kiss is sloppy, messy, more like just exchanging breaths as Castiel starts up a steady pace. 

He feels Dean’s hands sliding down to his back, and props himself up enough to switch the angle of his thrusts. Dean grips his hips as he screams out, moaning his name. Castiel can feel the tightening in his stomach of his building arousal, and silently curses himself for being out of practice. He makes the mistake of looking down between them, watching his dick moving in and out of Dean. He groans as Dean moves his hand to wrap around his neglected cock.

He watches Dean jerk himself in time with his thrust and almost loses it right then. “I’m close,” he breathes out, glancing up to Dean’s face. 

“S’close too,” Dean gasps pushing his body up to meet Castiel’s thrust. “Right there, yeah. Oh shit! Cas, Cas, Cas!” Dean clenches hard around Castiel and he feels something warm hit his chest, and that pulls him over the edge. His hips snap forward one last time as he comes so hard his vision whites out.

He is vaguely aware he’s collapsed on top of Dean, and with a huff rolls off to the side, groaning as his softening dick slips out. He quickly takes off the condom and ties it off, tossing it somewhere by the nightstand. Castiel throws an arm over his eyes, trying to catch his breath listening to Dean breathing heavily beside him. Even though Dean came before him, he still wishes he could have lasted longer. Maybe next time—

The thought has Castiel sitting upright, and staring across his room at the wall. Holy shit he just slept with his roommate and his coworker. What the hell was he thinking? Dean isn’t someone he can just call whenever he needs to blow off steam, he lives with him! They see each other not only at the studio, but when they go home at night.

He feels the bed shift slightly and then Dean’s warm body against his. “You alright?”

A part of Castiel wants to lean into the man’s warmth, but the other part of him is screaming at him to pull away. Even with any other person he could let them sleep over. With Meg he would hold her while they slept, granted their sex was more intense than the others. Why is he having such a difficult time with wanting to give Dean the same kind of treatment? He deserves to sleep in an actual bed at least after all the man has done for him.

Castiel clears his throat and gives a weak smile. “Need to get us cleaned up.”

He stands slowly from the bed and walks out into the living room towards the bathroom, not bothering to put on any pants. After Castiel relieves himself he grabs a washcloth and wipes his chest and lower half down, flinching at the drying come against his skin. There is a soft knock at the room, and he opens it to see Dean nervously standing outside the door in his boxers. 

“I, uh, need to take a piss, so…” Dean rubs the back of his neck and looks back at the living room. 

“Oh, right.” Castiel says throwing the rag into the hamper and passing by Dean awkwardly. 

Castiel walks back into the bedroom and strips off the sheet, tossing it into the corner of the room. Luckily the comforter was still on the floor from this morning and hadn’t gotten messy. Castiel grabs another sheet from his closet, and puts it on the bed. He picks up his comforter from the ground and fluffs it out before throwing it onto the bed and climbing in. 

Dean still hasn’t come back into his room. Castiel stares between the bright light still on and the open door. Should he turn off the lights and close the door? Is Dean going to come back here, or is he going to sleep on the couch? Are their sleeping arrangements going to change now? Should they? He groans and rubs his face irritated that his mind is making this into more of a thing than it should be. 

As if reading his mind, Dean walks into the room, rubbing his arm nervously. “Your, uh, light is still on and the door's open. Do you, um, need anything? I was gunna head to bed.”

Something inside Castiel is screaming at him to turn him away. That by acknowledging the warmth inside him and letting Dean sleep in his bed will only lead to creating problems. Isn’t that what he agreed to, though? The other half of his brain is scolding him for being a dick, and reminding him of Meg sleeping in his bed countless times after they had sex. The only difference in this whole situation is the fact the man standing just inside his room makes him actually want something more. The pros and cons argue inside his mind before the awkward silence makes Dean begin to edge back out of the door.

“I, um, Dean.” Castiel hates that he can feel his face starting to get warm as he calls him back in. “I was wondering if you would, uh, want to sleep in here tonight?”

He’s blushing like a damn teenager who just asked their significant other to go steady. Why the hell is he like this? Castiel almost opens his mouth, suggesting Dean forgets it before he watches Dean’s face brighten, a smile spreading over his lips like he just got handed the best gift in the world. A fluttering feeling starts in his stomach as he watches Dean’s whole body relax. 

“Yeah, man. I’d like that,” Dean says, pushing the door closed and clicking off the light. 

He listens to Dean fumble about in the dark, and somehow he manages to make it to the edge of the bed. By the time his eyes adjust Castiel feels the bed dip on the other side of him. His heartbeat begins to race as he feels Dean’s warm body beside him. Castiel stares up into the dark, counting his own breaths trying in vain to act natural. How can he go to sleep when his heart is racing? More importantly, why is his body reacting like this? He takes in a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slowly. Beside him, he notices Dean’s breathing hasn’t evened out yet, either. The tense silence between them is making Castiel so uncomfortable he debates sneaking out to sleep on the couch.

Dean sighs heavily, bouncing the bed as he readjusts. “So what happens now?” he whispers.

What happens now, indeed? He would like to say he’s been here before, but that would be a lie. Dance has been the only thing he has cared about in a very long time. He’s sacrificed sleep, time, and money on his passion, and truthfully, it is all he’s ever really known.

This is new ground for Castiel. He and Meg were never anything more than a good time every now and then. Castiel couldn’t imagine, even now, what being in a relationship with her would have been like. Balthazar had been his guinea pig, so-to-speak, in college to test the waters of his sexuality. They both were aware and fine with it only being just that; Castiel never craved anything more, and Balthazar has always a one night stand kind of guy anyway. 

But being with Dean, intimately and now, just feels more and it’s fucking terrifying. Even despite the tense awkwardness between them, it’s just different than with the others. No matter how much his thoughts are battling with each other, he knows that he doesn’t want everything between them to be about sex. It can’t be. Not after the man potentially saved his whole entire company. But it is more than that. There is chemistry between them. Castiel isn’t exactly sure how it formed, it just happened. Somewhere in these few days they’ve been able to actually talk and spend time together, they’ve formed a deeper type of friendship. 

Dean is more than just a good time, and Castiel enjoys just actually spending time with him. Besides, Castiel cannot even compute how just having sex would work out with their living arrangement. His mind keeps going back to Meg, and when they had sex together, he was fine with it for what it was. There was never an awkward moments of doubting what he should or should not do. He was confident in his actions whether it be before, during, or after. With her, there wasn’t any intimacy between them, or at least with him. But more importantly, he never craved anything more from her. 

But with Dean, it’s different. Despite hardly understanding it, he can feel his body wanting to reach out and hold him against his chest. Castiel already has the want to kiss Dean again, craving his taste on his tongue. The warming feeling in his chest from before is now pumping through his veins, spreading into every tiny, hidden crevice it can find. Castiel is terrified at letting himself succumb to exactly what everything means. At the same time, he’s drawn to the feeling, desperately wanting to discover exactly how deeply he can let himself feel. 

Maybe he can finally find out just exactly what those love songs he heard Dean play are actually singing about. 

Castiel rolls over so he is facing Dean and moves his hand across the small space to brush against Dean’s. Dean spreads his fingers against Castiel’s, and Castiel takes the opportunity to lace them together. His thumb rubs little circles against Dean’s hand as he shifts his body close, his knees knocking against Dean’s. After a few adjustments and grunts, their legs intertwine comfortably, foreheads resting against each other. 

Castiel takes in a deep breath trying to keep his heart from racing, and lets it out slow. “I’ve never done…this.” 

Dean huffs out a laugh and squeezes his hand lightly. “Pretty sure you got some experience under your belt. No virgin I’ve ever heard of can do what you did with your tongue.” 

He rolls his eyes and nudges Dean’s forehead. “Not that, you  _ pridurok _ ... This.” He squeezes Dean’s hand and clenches his calves around Dean’s leg for a moment before loosens again. 

Even though the lights are out and it is well past midnight, Chicago does not truly sleep, and is never actually dark. Now that his eyes have adjusted, a light from somewhere outside is giving the room just enough dimness to see Dean’s eyebrows shoot into his hair, eyes growing a bit large. It all happens quickly before his face schools itself, and he has his cocky grin back into place. 

“You sayin’ you want more than just my sexy body?” Dean teases.

“Slightly less now,” Castiel quips, letting go of Dean’s hand and rolling onto his back.

“Whoa, hey now!” Dean says propping himself up with his elbow. “That was just rude.”

Castiel chuckles and folds his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, trying to ignore Dean’s pouting beside him. 

“And for the record, I ain’t asking for anything more, you know? You made it clear before that you couldn’t do…” He flicks his wrist between them. “I was just asking what you wanting me to do about our living arrangement now that that happened.”

Castiel feels his face flush and gives a small thanks to whoever is listening that the lights are off. He manages to mumble a quiet, “Oh”. He’s an idiot, it seems. How could he have not taken into consideration what Dean’s view on sex or relationships is? He hasn’t exactly said he ever wanted more than just sex. Even that night when they first kissed Dean never hinted to wanting more than that moment. Maybe everything he has been thinking about was just one sided, and Dean is exactly like him in his way of thinking? Which would make him an even bigger idiot in letting himself actually develop feelings for the man.

A small ball of panic begins to rise in his chest as he watches Dean’s dark silhouette lean over just enough he can see his face. “Not to say anything more wouldn’t be nice, though.” 

Castiel turns his face to look at Dean in confusion, eyes straining to see his face clearly. Is he joking with him again? Being unable to see or read Dean’s facial features is very frustrating. The man’s voice gives away absolutely nothing. 

“Feel free to say something at anytime, man. Just laying myself out there and all. It’s cool,” he huffs and flops back onto the bed on his back.

“I just…” Castiel glances over to him and then back up at the ceiling. Dean’s right. He owes him an answer. Any answer, at this point. Any words where they might make the slightest of sense would be great right about now. Why is his brain thinking this is the most opportune time to shut off?

“S’cool, Cas. I get it.” He feels Dean shrug beside him. “I can go stay with Balthazar. I think I almost have enough saved for a deposit, so it would just be a few months of living with him before I could get my own place.”

A rush of jealousy passes over him so quickly, it makes his skin feel like it’s on fire. He turns quickly on his side facing Dean, and grabs the back of his neck. Castiel closes the space between them quickly before he can overthink anything, trying to push their lips together. 

Dean makes a little squeak as Castiel’s lips miss Dean’s slightly, pushing firmly against the corner of his mouth. Dean chuckles and turns his face enough to give him a quick peck before scooting back. “Take it you don’t like that idea much?”

“Apparently I feel very strongly about you sharing a bed with another man at the moment. And if I know Balthazar, you wouldn’t be doing much sleeping.”

Dean tips his head back into a laugh. “You really would never have to worry about Balthazar ever becoming a problem. He’s too into himself; too much of a cocky sonofabitch to really do anything for me.”

“Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try everything in the book to try and reel you in.” Castiel huffs. “He can be very charming and somewhat of an actual decent human being when he wants to be. Let alone being stupidly stubborn and always up for a good challenge.” 

The silence settles back over them, but it doesn’t feel quite so heavy as before. Castiel feels his eyes begin to grow heavy right as he feels Dean’s arm slide over his stomach as he presses himself against him. 

“So if you don’t want me to stay with Balthazar and you don’t want me here, what exactly am I supposed to do?”

Castiel wraps his free arm around Dean in return as they intertwine their legs again. “I never said I wanted you to find another place.” 

Dean stills for a moment before he wiggles under the blanket more. “Guess not. You haven’t really said much of anything.” 

“I am not use to having to discuss things after sex,” Castiel replies.

Dean chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “You do realize you just described Balthazar, right?”

“I am nothing like Balth,” he scoffs, pinching Dean’s side lightly. “My last partner and I had an understanding over the years we were with each other. But Balthazar can’t even bother to stick around after to sleep in their beds, let alone see them again.” 

“Okay, okay I get it. Balthazar is a serious player and you are more than a friends with benefits kinda guy,” Dean laughs again. 

“It is just easier for them that way.” Castiel shrugs as he slowly draws circles over Dean’s back with his fingertips. “Because of my job, I am both physically and mentally unable to give another person the time and attention they deserve.” 

Even as he says it, it feels like a lie. Castiel cannot count how many times he’s had to say it, but this time it seems wrong. With both of them working at the same place and being here in his apartment, Dean has managed to give him what he needed. There’s no way Dean has possible gotten the same kind of feeling, is there? Could being with Dean really be that easy? Just doing what they do every day, and then coming home and just relaxing and being together? Why does everyone he has ever spoken to say that dancing has been nothing but a strain on their relationship? Well, everyone but Anna and Bartholomew, but their relationship had gone through a lot of difficult things before Castiel met them. 

Dean hums and squeezes his side lightly. “Sounds like it was just easier for you. But hey—” he feels Dean shrug against him, “—no judgment. You gotta do what’s best for you. And if the two of you agreed, that’s cool. I just need to point out that if we are living together and you don’t want me to leave, the whole ‘us’ thing we have going on might get a little bit confusing.”

That’s true. He is basically asking Dean to just wait around for when he wants to have sex with him. Using him. A sick feeling rolls around in his stomach as he physically flinches from the thought. He thinks of Dean as more than just a good time. He’s a friend, and enjoys spending time with him. 

Castiel clears his throat, adjusting his position slightly. “When you, um, say it like that I don’t quite like the sound of that.”

Dean peeks up at him and chuckles. “That’s just stating a fact, Cas. Not wording it any different than what the situation is.”

For a second time Castiel is thankful for the darkened room so that Dean cannot see how red his face is. He isn’t sure if it’s from embarrassment or shame, but either way he thanks whoever is listening that the lights are off. “I suppose hearing it said out loud from someone else really puts into perspective how much of an asshole I really am.”

“Hey, I never said you were an asshole,” Dean says, propping himself up beside him.

Castiel pushes himself up and leans against the headboard. “And what exactly do you want from this situation? You haven’t said anything on what you want out of this.”

Through the dimness of the room he watches Dean duck his head and rub the back of his neck. Besides Dean fidgeting in the bed, and the muffled sounds of a truck driving by, there is only silence. Maybe he was reading everything wrong. Dean did say he wouldn’t be opposed to more, but is that just because he’s his boss? After a few more moments of nothing, Castiel sighs and slips back to lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling. After a few minutes he feels Dean hesitantly lay down next to him. 

“I really am shit with the whole feelings talk,” Dean mumbles.

“I don’t know how to be in a relationship,” Castiel replies, watching shadows dance on the ceiling. 

“I’m sure you’ve seen a tv show or movie. Back in your day they were black and white, but the concept is still—”

A muffled yelp from Dean acknowledges that his throw was dead on, Castiel lays back down, pillowless, but smiling smugly to himself. “I’ll have you know I am only a few years older than you,  _ mal’chik _ .”

“Whatever you say, old man. I heard those knees pop when you got up earlier,” Dean laughs, bunching up Castiel’s pillow and resting his chin on it.

Castiel rolls his eyes, turning to his side to face Dean again. “About the same noise your back made when you got off the couch earlier.” 

“I am young, youthful and vibrant, damnit.”

Castiel chuckles and shakes his head. “You are insufferable.”

“I’m adorable,” Dean replies. Castiel can almost feel the wink he is sure Dean is giving him. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asks and he hums in response, grabbing his pillow back from Dean. “This is kind of like being in a relationship.”

Castiel freezes fluffing his pillow behind him a moment, before settling gently down on it. They were just goofing around, and if Dean hadn’t said anything, he would’ve thought anything of it except two friends messing around. Two friends messing around, mostly naked. That had just had sex. That are trying to figure out how to label themselves. 

“So, I’m just going to say this really fucking quick, and let the cards fall wherever,” Dean says. “I think you’re pretty hot. Thought that since I saw you on YouTube, but seeing you in person was even better.” He clears his throat and pulls on the blanket a bit. “I like hanging out with you when you’re not, ya know, a giant uptight asshole. No offense.” Castiel snorts as more of the blanket slides off of him. “You may never have had a relationship before, just a bunch of fuck buddies, but, uh, what we’ve been doing just hanging out with all that sexual tension is kinda like a relationship. I mean, if you want it to be I’m totally cool with that. If you want to be, ya know, whatever you were with Meg, then I probably need to find somewhere else to crash, because it’d totally mess with my head having both the hanging out and the sex, and then the cuddles with the bed thing. And yeah, I’m just gonna shut up because I’m rambling now.”

Any doubt Castiel was feeling is now replaced with that warm feeling spreading throughout his chest. Dean wants to be with him. There is still the worry about him being Dean’s boss, and wants to address the issue, but a yawn surprises him enough to decide to bring it up another time. Maybe he will get lucky and things will continue as normal and he won’t even have to bring it up.

“I think…I think I would like to try,” Castiel says through another yawn. 

After a moment of silence Dean asks, “Really?”

Castiel gives a quiet chuckle, snuggling more into the pillow. “Mm, the idea seems nice. But that might be because I’m tired. Ask me again in the morning.” 

His eyelids slip closed as he feels Dean press up against him. Automatically he lifts his arm letting Dean back up against him. The man’s hair tickles his nose and he snorts tilting his head up. Dean wiggles his ass against him a few times before Castiel squeezes him tightly to make him stop. 

“If you don’t stop wiggling and let me sleep I will kick you back to the couch,” he grumbles, loosening his grip and adjusting his body so his chest is flush with Dean’s back.

Dean chuckles, sliding his hand over the top of Castiel's, letting their fingers intertwine. “’Night Cas.”

With a happy sigh Castiel lets himself fall into sleep, more comfortable, relaxed and content than he thinks he’s felt before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otrod’ye - brat  
Prekrasnyy - beautiful  
Pridurok - moron  
Mal’chik - boy
> 
> https://youtu.be/vaAVByGaON0  
Song the boys were listening and slow dancing to.


	9. Chapter 9

The week has flown by. Castiel has met with every single one of his friends, going over and discussing what they want to try and perform. Kevin had spoken with Meg while Castiel was at home, and convinced her to at least entertain the idea. She came back with something short of strip tease and another dance paired with a vulgar rap song he couldn’t listen to for more than twenty seconds. Both of her ideas Castiel had to shoot down. He may be more open to a lot more things that he used to, but vulgar music and “dance” was something he would never tolerate.

Anna and Bartholomew have decided to tell their story of how they met and fell in love, going back to their basics and sticking with acrobatics. Anna gives their song of choice, and after listening through it, Castiel gives them the green light. Unfortunately, he tells them they are pretty much on their own for choreography. Acrobatics isn’t exactly something he is well versed in, but that was what drew them to him in the first place. What they do is beautiful, and he regrets not showcasing their talent more.

Balthazar, of course, has come up with the most ridiculous and slightly complex tango known to man. It will involve three partners who, in Balthazar’s vision, switch off so smoothly it seems as if there is only one person. After listening to his song choice, Castiel has to roll his eyes at his friend. It actually suits him really well, and the fact he is going to turn it into a tango just goes to show how talented his friend truly is. Charlie chimes in that she was the one who suggested to Balthazar that it could be done, and she would tweak the song a bit to flow better. Balthazar tells him he’s decided to have Jo, Anna, and himself as the partners for the dance. He and Charlie go off to the corner of the room with her laptop, replaying the song as he tries to explain what he wants.

Samandriel tells Castiel he will be incorporating his violin into his dance, but the song he is working on is still being finished, and he isn’t quite ready for others to hear. Jo says she’s having problems even finding a song, let alone a dance to fit what she considers love. Castiel suggests working with Dean to try and brainstorm some ideas. She lights up at the advice, hurrying over to where Dean is fiddling with his phone.

He tries not to notice how sad Samandriel looks as the two of them press close together over Dean’s phone. He makes a note to talk to him about it later, at least to assure the kid that there is nothing to worry about. Samandriel may not think he’s obvious about how he feels for Jo, but his face gives him away every time he thinks no one is watching. It’s never been a secret to Castiel about how his friend feels for Jo. If ever there was love at first sight, Samandriel is the one it happened to. After he had seen them dance together all those years ago, Castiel is almost positive Jo has feelings for him too. The girl has been through a lot, though, and he can’t really blame her for keeping herself an arm’s length away. In her previous line of work love is considered a faerie tale.

Later that week, Kevin approaches him at the end of the night when they’re alone and hesitantly presents Castiel his idea along with his song choice. Given his lack of desire for a relationship or love, Castiel wasn’t sure what or even if Kevin was going to come up with something. He listens patiently as Kevin describes what he wants to create. The more his friend talks, the more animated he gets. Castiel can actually picture what Kevin is describing. By the time he finishes talking, Kevin is almost visibly vibrating with energy. The whole idea is brilliant and completely perfect for him. It incorporates all the classes, and takes the simple word, “love”, to a whole new level.

Castiel eagerly dives in with Kevin, and they work late into the night on steps and ideas that they could possibly use. By the time Kevin’s phone rings, Castiel realizes how late it truly he. He flinches sympathetically hearing Kevin’s mother loudly scolding him. Castiel gives Kevin a brief wave as the boy packs up his things quickly, and bolts out the door to where he’s sure his mother awaits in a car below.

Bartholomew and Dean walk in as he is heading over to gather his forgotten coffee cup on the window sill from early this morning. Dean gives him a warm smile before heading over to the speakers lying on the table.

“Anna run off with Meg again?” Castiel asks setting his cold cup back down again.

He rolls his eyes and shrugs. “I’ll never understand their friendship.”

“There’s something almost addicting about her recklessness that makes you crave another hit,” Castiel says, chuckling.

“Castiel,” Bartholomew says, slinging his dance bag across his chest. “I honestly thought when you first threw out this idea that you had lost your touch. Anna and I were both concerned with your teaching and, in general, you.”

Castiel runs a hand through his hair hoping Bart will think his flushed skin has more to do with the dancing than the embarrassment. “To be honest with you, I truly did not have a clue on what to do next. I think some part of me was waiting for inspiration to come, but…It was more difficult to find when I am constantly staying in the same place.” He sighs and nods towards Dean. “I guess you can say he was my inspiration, in a way.”

“The boy?” Bartholomew asks turning and squinting at Dean whose face is very serious looking as he types something into his phone. “I want to say I am surprised, but…” He shrugs and turns back to Castiel, lips twitching into a brief, rare smile. “He suits you.”

That makes Castiel snort out a laugh. “We have almost nothing in common. I know practically nothing about him, and his lack of obedience during class makes me want to pull out of my hair most days. He is probably the last thing I was looking for.” He tilts his head watching Dean give his phone a funny look before viciously tapping onto it again. “Still, he managed to rekindle the passion that had managed to flicker out. It’s because of him that this idea was created. He honestly helped me fall in love with dancing again.”

Bartholomew hums in acknowledgement as they both watch Dean across the room. After a few minutes his friend reaches over and squeezes his arm. “If life has taught me anything, Castiel, it is that you have to live everyday like it is your last. Hold no regrets, and love deeply. Anna lives by those words, and it took a long time before I gave in and followed her.”

Castiel raises his eyebrow and opens his mouth to question the comment more, but he jerks his head back to the sound of the door slamming against the wall. Bright red hair flowing behind the not so happy looking Scottish woman almost makes him want to tuck tail and hide. Almost. To say he hasn’t been expecting this would be a lie. He had texted Rowena the same night as everyone else, much like with Meg, she ignored him. Since she refused to change her dance routines, he had asked Balthazar to “misplace” the music while he helped teach yesterday. He’s actually surprised it has taken her this long to grace him with her presence.

“Castiel Dmitri Krushnic! Have you lost your bloody mind?” she yells, stomping up to him and jabbing her long, pointed finger in his chest.

“Good evening, Rowena. How are you doing tonight?” he asks, ignoring the sharp fingernail digging into his sternum.

Despite how short the woman is, she is probably one of the most intimidating females he’s ever met. Even more so than Meg or Jo. Rowena's icy glare has him swallowing thickly as he tries to keep his face neutral. Castiel has been feeling pretty good about this whole day and now that feeling is slowly starting to slip away.

“Oh, ye want to ask me how my day is going, do ya? Well, I’ll tell you,” she snaps sarcastically. “A certain someone took my iPod with the music in it I needed for classes. You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with this now would you? Hm?”

“And that,” Bartholomew says patting Castiel on the shoulder, “is my cue to leave.” He nods to Rowena as he steps around her. “Always a pleasure, Rowena. Castiel, Dean, we’re all meeting up at the Bar whenever you’re done.”

Her eyes don’t even glance at him as he walks out the doors. Castiel looks after him, envying the man able to escape so easily.

“Taking  _ my _ music out of  _ my _ classroom is an insult!” she exclaims, waving her hand around dramatically. “One I will absolutely not stand for!”

Castiel has to fight rolling his eyes. “You know very well what happened to the music, Rowena. You were given notice to the change of routine, and you refused to change anything. Do I need to remind you who you actually work for?”

If anything her glare turns colder, and face falls eerily calm. He holds her gaze, unwilling to back down. Someone clearing their throat beside them surprises Castiel enough that he blinks over at Dean looking between them both nervously.

“Uh, hey, I’m Dean. I’ve seen you a few times in passing, but never introduced myself,” he says, holding out a hand towards Rowena. “I’m the reason your classes are getting revamped. So if you want someone to blame, go ‘head and yell at me.”

Castiel tries to cover up his laugh with a cough, but fails miserably. Rowena is looking at the outstretched hand in something that can only be described as disgust before waving it away.

“I know very well who you are, Dean Winchester of Lawrence, Kansas,” she states, looking him up and down. “A bit different than what I envisioned, but I can see why he fancies you.”

“How did you—”

Rowena waves her hand at him, cutting him off and points her finger back into Castiel’s chest. “I have to rework all my classes’ routines! You had damn well better have some sort of input on what exactly you want four different classes to do in the amount of time we have.”

“I do have some ideas that—”

“ _ Ohhh _ , he has some  _ ideas _ !” she says with the most sarcastic happiness she can muster. “Well Lord knows  _ ideas _ this far into the season have time to blossom into something we can actually do something with.”

He sighs and doesn’t bother to hide his eye roll this time. “Rowena.”

“I dare say that I’m glad  _ we _ met together and took the time to discuss ideas about  _ my _ classes.” Her gaze goes hard again as she locks eyes with him. “The classes you promised me that you would never tamper with when you hired me. Aye, I recall having a long conversation about how I could have free artistic and creative regin. I dare say this is a void of contract!”

Castiel sighs again and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. To be fair, she isn’t wrong. He did say she could have free rein of teaching her classes how she wanted as long as he was able to approve all her ideas beforehand. And technically he  _ had _ okayed the routines, but that was before Dean came in and knocked his world back into place.

“You’re right. I did say I would never interfere with your classes beyond watching your routines, tweaking certain things, and critiquing; along with making ensuring everything coincided with everyone else’s actual performances. But,” He holds up a hand cutting off Rowena as she opens her mouth to speak, “I am your boss. I will pull rank on you if you want to throw your little fit, but the change is happening. We have settled on an idea that is going to incorporate the whole company, your classes included. It would just go a lot smoother for everyone if you just accepted it.”

Instead of casting her eyes on him, she turns sharply towards Dean and snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Oi, Winchester.” She says his name mockingly. “This is all your doing?”

Dean straightens up and gives Castiel a little glance before nodding. “Yes ma’am.”

Rowena crosses her arms and looks him up and down a few times before, apparently, seeing whatever she was looking for. She turns back to Castiel and sighs dramatically, brushing her wild fiery hair from her face, all intimidation evaporating from her features. He swears having a conversation with the woman is like getting whiplash.

“I do like this boy, Castiel. Aye, a much better choice than that last trollop you were with.” She waves her hand again before smoothing down her dress casually. “He’s a wee bit on the fragile side, but nothing you and your little band of misfits can’t fix I’m sure. He’s stronger willed and brighter than the others, so I won’t even try’n fight him or you on changing ‘er minds.”

It took him awhile, but now he is just numb to the fact that Rowena somehow knows things that no one else should know. Sometimes she’s said things that he himself has only just been thinking. It used to make him uneasy and slightly fear the woman. Now, after years of enduring Rowena’s hot and cold moods, randomly knowing things she shouldn’t, and other little questionable things that happen around the studio, he just accepts it as a part of who she is, and doesn’t even blink.

Dean, on the other hand, looks gobsmacked. His mouth open and closes like a fish as Castiel tries his best to hold back a smile. He probably should have warned him about the woman, seeing as they’ve been in the same building with each other for a few months, but he’s had other things on his mind.

“Thank you,” he says, nodding to her.

“Don’t think ‘er off that easy,” she says, wagging her finger at him. “Tomorrow night we are sitting down and you are helping me come up with  _ something _ for my wee children. Seeing as you’ve left me with so little time to prepare, I assume you’ll have no issue with this?”

“Any other time I would say yes, but it is Friday and Gabriel is due to stop to go over the finances and probably an updated interview,” Castiel replies calmly.

“Good, he can join us. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen that handsome brother of yours. Hopefully he will be bringing the good kind of vodka, not like that rubbish from last month. Perhaps this time he might do well with asking questions from another’s point of view,” she says, turning around and walking to the door. “Till tomorrow, love!”

He internally cringes, thinking of spending the evening with both her and Gabriel in the same room. Castiel is pretty sure Rowena is old enough to be his mother (even though she doesn’t look a day over thirty—maybe), and the thought of her even flirting with his brother just makes him seem so… _ uncomfortable _ . He can only hope she won’t do anything. Castiel groans and rubs a hand over his face. He should be hoping Gabriel doesn’t do anything. Yup, he is positively already dreading tomorrow, now.

“So, are we just not going to talk about what happened right now?” Dean asks in a high-pitched voice he immediately tries to clear.

Castiel cocks an eyebrow to him before walking back over to his coffee cup again. “About?”

“Dude, seriously? You cannot possibly tell me that that’s normal!” Dean squeaks.

He shrugs and picks up the mug and not even trying to hold back the smile. If at all possible, Dean’s eyes grow wider. Is it wrong to say he looks completely adorable all worked up like this? It would be a shame not to take full advantage of enjoying the moment in full.

They haven’t exactly announced their situation by any means, at least not officially, not that it’s anyone’s business in the first place. Secretly, Castiel somewhat fears the rage he fully anticipates Meg to unleash upon finding out. He tries to tell himself that his and Meg’s situation was different, but it still doesn’t help the bit of guilt he feels. His excuse about not having time for another person is, for the most part, true. For all Castiel knew then, it was a solid truth.

Having someone living with you, and bonding with them on a level Castiel didn’t know he was capable of, is well, just different. It was all very unexpected, not unwelcome, but just different. He and Meg were like oil and water on a relationship level, they would have never had worked out regardless if he wasn’t devoted to his job or not. She has always been far too intense for him to handle more than a few moments breath.

Something Castiel is very much looking forward to experiencing now is coming home and spending time with Dean. Whether it is a few hours or (more than likely) just to crawl into bed and crash, the feeling he gets inside his chest when he thinks about it makes him smile. Castiel doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of spending time with Dean. In fact, the more time they spend together he seems to only crave more. Balthazar has even commented on how he never really stays late anymore, and hinted at how much more  _ relaxed _ he seems. If anyone in their group suspects, Balthazar knows him enough to have probably figured out something is going on. Castiel truly fears when that conversation comes up.

Castiel crosses the room and places a quick kiss on Dean’s parted lips before walking towards the door. “Please turn off the lights whenever you’re done. I’ll be waiting for you downstairs.”

His alarm should be going off in a few minutes. Castiel has no idea why he's awake, but a few minutes ago his eyes flew open for no reason, and his heart was racing too fast to ease back into sleep quickly. He wants to blame whatever dream he was having, but for the life of him he cannot remember anything about it. It’s probably his body getting ready for having to deal with Gabriel and Rowena all night.

Castiel glances at the clock beside his bed and huffs at how wide awake he is. He technically has at least thirty more minutes until his alarm is supposed to go off, but now his mind is starting to get to the point where it is impossible to shut off.

Dean shifts and readjusts beside him, mumbling something unintelligible in his sleep. Castiel smiles over at the man who is currently hugging the pillow underneath his face and more than likely drooling all over it. After coming home last night they had taken a shower together (challenging just how long the hot water could really last) as Dean jerked them off together under the spray. They then popped popcorn for dinner, and Dean had turned on his Pandora. They sat on the couch eating popcorn and talking about anything from theories about Rowena to Dean’s little brother, to stories and gossip about everyone else in their group.

What Castiel enjoyed most about the evening, and all the ones previously since they’ve been living together, is when a particular song would catch Dean’s ear and he could drag Castiel up and to his feet and make him dance with him. It was messy, clumsy, and completely ridiculous; and Castiel loved every damn minute of it. There was just something about how freeing it was to just relax and act a fool with Dean, not being judged or critiqued at all, but still holding the same love for dancing.

While they were laying bed attempting to drift off and failing miserably to do so, Dean talked about his mother. Castiel couldn’t help the way his heart gave a little twinge of sadness as he described her and where his love of dancing had come from. He asks about what happened after the fire, and Dean just says he and his brother bounced around for awhile after that. Castiel doesn’t press, but always wonders about that gap of time from when his mother died and his “adoptive” mother who took them in. Despite his curiosity, he believes that when Dean is ready he’ll tell him about it.

Castiel glances at the clock again, and with a sigh decides to get up for the day. He leans over and kisses the side of Dean’s temple before sliding out of bed, switching off the alarm as he stands. It is bound to be a long day, with an even more stressful night. He is in no way looking forward to it. Gabriel better bring the good stuff.


	10. Chapter 10

**Dean**

As Dean walks across the street trying towards Castiel’s bar, his thighs give a twinge of pain. He braces against wind that he swears is blowing needles against his face, not snow flurries, and clutches his jacket tighter around him. Despite his body feeling sore and tired, he can’t remember the last time he felt so _ good _.

After the first few weeks dancing for Castiel, Dean really didn’t think it was going to last. He was staying at some shady motel a couple blocks away from the dance studio for a few days, before someone in the neighboring rooms got shot. That was probably one of the most terrifying moments of his life. He had just gotten out of the shower, trying to ignore the muffled voices coming from the very thin walls and heard a gunshot, footsteps, and then nothing. Like an idiot he just stood there, frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

After debating calling the police and risking getting involved in something he shouldn’t be, or splitting and never showing his face again, he chose the latter. He threw his stuff into his bag and ran out of the room into his car, never looking back. It took him a while, but eventually he found a spot a little ways down from the studio on the side of the street that didn’t say anything about the length of time you could be parked for. He figured it was still warm enough out to crash for the night and he’d figure out things the next day.

He tried to find another motel to sleep in, but they all looked worse than the last. Dean contemplated getting something a little bit better for a night, but almost choked when he saw how expensive a room would be just for a night’s sleep, on top of the drive to get there. It didn’t seem worth it, and it still wasn’t cold out, so he figured he still had time to save up for an apartment.

Dean pushes open the door to the bar and stomps his boots on the mat trying to shake off as much slush as he can. The bartender, Larry? Leroy? Lester? Fuck, he is horrible at names—gives him a little wave, already pulling out a beer and placing it on the bar for him. Dean grins at the sheer _ Cheers _ atmosphere as he slides onto the stool, grabbing the beer and taking a drink.

“No crew tonight?” the bartender asks, looking back towards the door.

“Nah,” Dean says, shaking his head and pulling out his phone from his pocket. “Everyone is exhausted and headed home. Can’t say I blame ‘em, though. There’s a lot more shit to do now that we have our heads on straight.”

“Not really going to pretend I know half the stuff you guys go on about when you're here, but I can appreciate the show you guys put on when it all comes together.” The bartender nods and walks back over to a stool he has next to the cash register, and picks up his phone on the counter. “Castiel going to be joining you?”

Dean shakes his head. “Had to meet with his brother and the other dance teacher to go over a bunch of stuff. He’ll be home late.”

The bartender gives him a sly smile just as it clicks what he said. Dean feels his face growing hot as ducks his head, swiping his screen to read a new message blinking. It takes him a few times to actually take in what he’s reading while not trying to die of embarrassment, before he snorts out a laugh.

**8:09pm** _We have been sitting here for an hour and all that’s gotten accomplished is establishing how shiny and soft Rowena’s hair is._

**8:20pm** _ This is what hell is, isn’t it? I am in hell. _

**8:21pm** _Did I mention that I am the only one not drinking? Not by choice. Gabriel keeps refilling her glass and hoarding the bottle._

** _8:42pm_ ** _ I keep trying to pull them back in, but Gabriel interrupts me. I just heard the door close, so that means you and everyone else have probably left for the night. Bastards. _

**9:15pm** _ I told them I was leaving, and that got their attention. Rowena actually made eye contact with me for a full ten seconds before laughing over something Gabriel said. _

**9:21pm** _ Did you know Gabriel has silk sheets? I feel like Gabriel might need to relearn how to whisper. There are just some things I do NOT need to know about my brother and whatever he does at his own home. _

Dean chuckles shaking his head and tips his head back, downing the last of the beer. He cannot wait for Castiel to get home and hear him go off about everything tonight. Brothers can definitely be a pain.

Speaking of brothers, he hasn’t talked to Sam for a few weeks. Every time he tries to call him Dean ends up getting his voice mail. The kid doesn’t reply to his text messages until all hours of the morning when he’s sleeping, and they are usually short answers anyway. Sam hasn’t tried calling him back either. Dean frowns down at his phone, finger hovering over Sam’s name debating about calling him. He knows college is busy, but he always made time for his brother. Maybe Stanford is different, though.

“Seat taken?” A southern voice asks off to the side of him.

Dean shakes his head glancing up at the gruff looking guy sitting down on the stool next to him. He feels his phone buzz and reads the message really quick before turning off the screen and laying it down on the bar.

**9:30pm** _ Rowena has decided to give Gabriel a “tour” of her studio. I’m not an idiot. But I am glad she had enough sense to suggest taking it somewhere else for a bit so I can work on the routines in peace. _

“Name’s Benny,” the man says, slipping off his fisherman hat and laying it on the bar. “Buy ya a drink?”

“Dean,” he says, nodding to the man. “And I was just about ready to head home.”

“Hey brotha’, I understand,” Benny says, waving to the bartender. “Just lookin’ for some conversation before heading back out and figured ya looked nice enough. I got about a fourteen hour drive back home, and us truckers ain’t exactly sociable creatures.”

Dean glances at the doors then back at the guy. One more couldn’t hurt. If anything it’ll probably let him get to sleep easier since Castiel won’t be there.

“Eh, I guess I could have one more,” Dean says, nodding to the bartender across from them. “I gotta take a leak real quick. Be right back.”

“I’ll make sure no one takes ‘er spot,” Benny says giving him a wink.

Dean laughs, making his way through the empty bar to the back where the restrooms are. He relieves himself and washes his hands, yawning as he exits the restroom. Maybe he should call it a night? The exhaustion from the day is slowly catching up with him, and a good hot shower doesn’t sound half bad right about now.

“I had to turn away a few people, but ‘er spot is safe,” Benny says, smiling at him as he sits down, holding out his beer. “It’s on me.”

“Hey, thanks man. You didn’t have to do that,” he says, taking the bottle and giving it a long drink. He licks his lips wondering why he got a slight salty taste. Dean looks down at the label to see if it's the same brand he usually gets, and shrugs. Weird. “Gotta be honest with you though. I’m not sure how long I’m gunna last. Today was long.”

“Oh yeah?” Benny says looking him up and down slowly. “What’da do for a living?”

Dean chuckles and takes another sip from his beer. “Dancer.”

Surprise flickers across Benny’s expression. “So, like a tutu and tights? Or one of ‘em dancers you see on TV with that shit they call music nowadays.”

“Neither,” he says, laughing. “I mean, well, I guess more tights than backup dancing, but no tutus thus far into my career.”

“Well you got the looks for it,” Benny says, giving him a wink. “Too handsome just to be some nobody in a random bar.”

Dean feels his face heating up and looks down at the bottle. He licks his lips, picking at the label for a moment before he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. His fingers twitch to check the message. It occurs to Dean that he still hasn’t replied to any of the others messages and something isn’t sitting right with him about that. He hasn’t even mentioned Castiel to Benny at all.

“Didn’t mean to offend you any,” Benny says, laying a warm hand on his thigh and giving it a squeeze. “Just tryin’ to pay ya a compliment.”

“Thanks,” Dean coughs, adjusting on the stool enough that the man’s hand falls away. “My—” Boyfriend? Roommate? Friend? Boss? They haven’t really established anything outside of themselves. Dean glances over to the bartender who looks very focused on whatever is on his phone. At least, enough that Dean won’t have to worry about him overhearing and blurting it out later until they’re ready. “—boyfriend thinks so too.”

Benny chuckles and takes another sip from his bottle, otherwise completely unfazed by the mention of him having a boyfriend. “He’s a very smart, lucky man.”

“Yeah, he’s alright,” Dean replies, grinning.

“Where is mister lucky tonight?” Benny asks, waving, trying to get the bartender's attention for another.

“He’s stuck at work with another coworker who is flirting with his brother. Pretty sure the last text was she was taking the brother to go have some sexy time,” Dean says, nodding for another one as well. “He’ll probably be stuck there all night trying to do twice the work.”

Benny clicks his tongue and takes a sip from his own bottle. “And this is why you don’t work with family.”

“They actually work alright with each other. But when you involve sex with work…” Dean shrugs and takes the fresh bottle of beer from the bartender nodding thanks again.

His vision starts to spin a little and Dean shakes his head roughly trying to see straight. The bottle in his hand almost feels like it weighs double the weight it should. He must have been more tired than he thought. Maybe he should’ve gone home instead of talking to the guy. He seemed nice enough, though. The Bar doesn’t get very many people, at least not on weekdays, and the company wasn’t exactly unpleasant. Besides, talking to the guy was the least he could do since Benny's paying for his drinks. Dean decides to finish the beer quick and head back home.

“So, uh, where you say you’re going?” Dean asks trying to get his eyes to focus on the untouched beer sitting in front of him.

Dean thinks he feels Benny’s arm brush his, but all of his skin is beginning to grow a little too warm. A throbbing is starting right behind his eyes; a sure sign that a headache is beginning to set in. Dean watches the condensation running down his bottle to gather in a small puddle onto the counter. The coolness feels nice against his fingers. If the bottle didn’t suddenly feel like it weighed about a hundred pounds he is half tempted to roll the bottle along his forehead.

“Oh, back home to Louisiana,” Benny says, taking a long pull on his beer. “Had one or two deliveries to make up this way. Truck's empty now, though.”

Dean yawns and shakes his head again trying to refocus his quickly blurring world. What the hell is wrong with him? “S’kinda delivery you make?”

Benny glances over at him, taking another sip from his beer. “Fish, shrimp, that kind of thing.”

Dean hums, feeling himself sway a little. He sure as hell isn’t drunk after two beers. He must be getting sick. “You a fisherman?”

“You could say that,” Benny replies tipping back the rest of his drink and turning to look at him.

Something about the heated look Benny is giving him is really creeping him out. Dean concentrates on pushing against the bar and spinning around in his chair, but something about how his world is already spinning and the velocity he pushed himself has Dean stumbling off the stool about ready to fall over.

“Whoa there.” Benny’s voice is right there by his ear. His warm hands securely holding onto his shoulders. “Feelin’ okay there, brotha’?”

Dean shakes his head and tries to look up at Benny but his vision blurs. He lets his head loll against his chest as he tries to stop the world to stop spinning. “S’tired. Needa get home. Needa text Cas.”

Dean feels a warm, strong arm around his waist and then something cold hit his face. It shocks him enough that when he blinks he can focus enough to tell they are outside the bar.

“You don’t needa drive home in your state. Let me,” the deep voice says.

“’Cross the street.” Dean slurs, trying to figure out how they got outside. “I can do it m’self.”

“Let me get ya to the door.” The man’s hand tightens against his middle and Dean finds himself leaning into the warmth.

There is a part of him whispering inside his head that this isn’t a good idea. Something vibrates against his leg and he vaguely remembers Castiel is back at the studio and won’t be home. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s this tired. He can just crash without any problems. After sleeping in Castiel’s bed all week the couch is going to suck tonight.

“Which door is yours?” Benny asks.

“212. Black door,” Dean mumbles, leaning more into the man’s body heat. “Hafta get m’keys in m’pocket.”

Dean feels the Benny’s too hot fingertips run along his side, and cannot help the little moan that escapes his lips as those fingertips dip into his front pocket. The warmth is making goosebumps spread over his skin, and Dean isn’t exactly sure why Benny hasn’t gotten the keys out yet, but Benny’s overly warm fingers keep brushing over his dick just enough that Dean feels himself leaning closer into Benny in attempts to stay upright. 

Just as Dean processes on exactly what Benny is doing, it stops. Benny his pulls his hand back, holding the keys in a hand. Dean hears a click as the door unlocks and then warm (too warm), strong hands are holding him up again. Dean stumbles over the entryway, and the sudden jolt briefly clearing enough of the fog in his mind to realize something isn’t right. Nothing about this is right.

“I can walk m’self,” Dean slurs, stumbling forward up the first few stairs.

“Cher, I would feel better if I at least walked ya to ‘er door.” Benny’s voice rumbles somewhere close to his ear. “Must be really tired, hm?”

That is an understatement. Dean feels like he could pass out on the steps right now and fall asleep for days. Why the hell does Castiel have to live on the third floor? That feels like a million miles away. The pain in his head begins to pound just a little bit more and Dean hisses, leaning against the banister grabbing his temples.

A warm arm wraps around his waist as another grabs his arm, wrapping it around the back of a warm neck. “Where we goin’?” the deep southern voice asks.

He just wants to lay down. He doesn’t care how or who gets him to the couch, but he just wants to lay down. “Third floor.”

Dean tries to get his legs to work, he really does, but they only listen to him when they want to. He is only half aware that they’ve reached the third floor because the constant too warm movement against his body has stopped. Dean rolls his head to the side, squinting trying to make out where he is. Oh, it’s their hallway. He tries to take a step forward, but his legs feel like jello and he begins to fall. Those strong (too rough), warm arms catch him and he actually giggles.

“Which room is yours?” Benny asks.

Did his voice get deeper? Has it always been that deep? It’s nothing like Castiel’s rough, gravelly voice that sends fricken goosebumps over his skin, and the only thing he can think of is it’s just _ wrong _. It’s not Cas. Dean opens his mouth to tell the guy to leave, but as soon as he lifts his head up a bit the thought is gone, and a wave of nausea hits him.

Whatever. Must not have been that important. He just needs to lie down and make the world stop spinning for five frickin’ seconds, and maybe he can focus. 

“You with me? Which door?” Benny asks again.

Somehow, Dean manages to nod his head to the left. “Las’ door.”

Next thing he hears is the lock clicking and then they’re moving again. He hears the sound of his keys being laid down on the kitchen counter, squeezes his eyes closed tightly as a bright light shines out of nowhere, and then he’s floating.

He’s floating and the world behind his eyelids is spinning and, oh God, he doesn’t think he’s ever been this tired or sore in his life. A sigh leaves his lips as he feels himself being placed down in what must be a cloud. There’s a brief tugging at his feet and suddenly they feel so light. Almost as if they might just float away from the rest of his body.

Laughter bubbles up inside Dean as he imagines his feet with little wings floating up in the air. Wasn’t there a Greek god with wings on their feet? Dean hums as he feels his pants slide off his legs. Castiel must be home early. Good. Now he can sleep like the dead.

“’as?” he asks manages to get out.

“Shh,” a deep voice hushes him. “Just lay back and relax.”

The voice is wrong. Castiel doesn’t have a southern accent. It definitely doesn’t have the same husky sounding tone that Dean swears could get him hard alone. No, this voice is off. It’s too...not Cas. It’s deep, but like he’s trying too hard. Regardless, if the voice isn’t Castiel’s then that means the hands traveling over his legs aren’t Castiel’s hands.

Dean tries to kick his legs, but they only twitch and sluggishly slide to the side. Panic begins to set in as he tries to kick out from the hands that are back on his thighs, and his legs refuse to cooperate. That wrong voice is chuckling as the hands edge higher up.

“No. Want ‘As. You ‘eeda leave,” Dean slurs, trying to make himself sit up but only succeeds in his head lolling to the side.

“I’m goin’ to make you feel so good, baby. Damn, you’re like sex on legs.” The wrong voice’s warm breath ghosts over his stomach making more goosebumps break out over his body. “Don’t worry, Dean. You can trust me.”

Dean thinks he says no, or at least he tries to get the word out. He tries to turn his body away, but something firm is pushing on the middle of his chest, holding him down. Dean is aware there are hot, callous fingertip brushes running all over his body. The sensitivity of his skin is making everything too intense, and instead of attempting to try and find any comfort in the warmth, it feels like he’s being ignited on fire.

Everything is spinning. Even behind his eyelids, the darkness is spinning and spinning like he’s stuck in a loop of fouette gone wrong. It hasn’t stopped, but just progressively gotten worse. The dizziness is almost making him feel like he’s falling. If he concentrates on that feeling of falling, the feeling of the fire from the man’s touch on his skin almost fades away. Dean falls for what seems like forever. Another giggle bubbles up in his throat as wonders if this is what Alice felt like when she fell down the rabbit hole. It’s almost peaceful, but just enough to make him forget about what’s going on outside of his falling.

Something wet drips down onto his chest. And then another. The feeling is enough to make his body slam back into itself as he physically feels himself bounce a few times onto something soft. His stomach twists as the something drips down onto him again, and the too-warm fingers wrap around his dick.

Dean wants to scream. He actually feels the pressure of the scream lodged inside his throat. It hurts so bad he feels tears escaping the edges of his tightly closed eyes. Whatever has been falling onto his chest is becoming heavier, almost like pebbles. Like rocks. Is he being buried alive? Oh God, he can’t breathe. This is how it ends. He’s going to be buried alive by a bunch of rocks on his chest.

The world fades away for a moment, but a deep grunting from above him, and a sharp pain from his ass has the scream pushing through from his throat. _ Too dry _, he wants to scream, but he doesn’t control any part of his body anymore. Dean is somewhat aware that his legs are being forced further apart and being bent at some awkward angle. He knows if he can feel it now through all this fog, then it must be excruciating. He whimpers pathetically as he feels someone ripping into him. Over and over. His body is being rocked back and forth. Back and forth.

The liquid in his belly sloshes violently, as another, more high pitched whimper is wrenched from his lips. It hurts. Oh God, it hurts. The pain between his legs intensifies to where he wishes his voice would let him scream again. There is more grunting noises above him, and bile begins rising in his throat, pushing against that invisible barrier blocking anything and everything from escaping.

Dean realizes he must have blacked out, lost consciousness, or something. The first thing that he notices when he attempts to swim up from the blackness is the smell of cigarette smoke. His stomach clenches violently and he groans, turning onto his side.. The little movement has him hissing and arching his back at the sharp, fire-like pain radiating directly from his ass.

He squints opens his eyes, desperately trying to make sense of the blurred shapes and swirling colors. Everything begins to spin too fast, and he lets his eyelids fall closed. A shiver The last thing he remembers before he lets it all go black is the feeling of fire spreading his back as someone’s fingers trace his spine.


	11. Chapter 11

It has been the night from hell.

First it was Rowena and his brother’s obnoxious flirting right in front of him while he tried to work out dance moves to music he barely knew. Then it was Alphie calling him, completely frantic because some guy Jo had gone out with forced himself into their apartment and demanded she “stop being a tease”. By the time he had gotten there, Samandriel and the guy were just trading off punches. He managed to grab the guy and quite literally toss him out of the apartment, threatening something much worse than the police if he came by again.

Castiel reaches the second floor feeling and has to take a moment to lean against the wall so he doesn’t fall over. One more flight of stairs to go. Fourteen more steps and about a million more steps to take down his ridiculously long hallway before he can reach his bed. Why isn't there an elevator in this building? Aren’t there laws about not being handicap accessible nowadays? Oh dear Lord, he isn’t going to make it.

Jo had tended to Alphie while they talked, gently holding a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel to the side of his face. Jo kept apologizing. Castiel insisted he stay for awhile until he was sure the guy wouldn’t return. It was about an hour after that, when Jo had finally passed out with her head on Alphie’s lap, legs over Castiel that Alphie finally confided in him about his feelings for her. He brushed the blond hair out of her face, and ran gentle fingers through the sides of it, smiling sadly down at her. He told Castiel he was gone the moment he met her. The day he realized he’d fallen in love was a few weeks after she’d moved in, and it was something just as simple as Jo helping him make pancakes, flour on her nose, and seeing her smile, listening to her laugh.

Castiel felt as if he was almost intruding on the moment, but leaving met moving Jo’s feet and probably waking her up. She had been through enough and needed to rest. Instead, he spoke quietly, suggesting he finally tell her how he felt. Samandriel only smiled sadly down at Jo, running through her hair again, whispering that if she actually felt anything for him she wouldn’t be going out all the time with other guys.

Castiel is almost halfway up the stairway when his legs begin to wobble and body sway. He doesn’t think he’s ever been quite this exhausted in his whole twenty-nine years of life. He’s even sober on top of it all, but the exhaustion he is feeling makes it feel like he’s drank a liquor store.

He pauses his steps and shakes his head violently trying to wake himself up a bit. The only thing keeping him going at this point is knowing Dean must still be asleep in his bed because his phone hasn’t chimed yet. The thought of curling up with a very warm, soft body against his gives him an extra push he needs to conquer the rest of the stairs.

After helping put Jo to bed, Alphie walked him to the door thanking him for coming over, and they’d call if the guy came back. Castiel told him to take the day off with Jo, and just think about what they talked about. He replied with saying he couldn’t make any promises.

By the time he arrived back at the studio, it was that gray area between what one would debate it being morning or night. Castiel fell heavily into his chair, glancing around at all the papers and notes exactly where he had left them. He checked his phone for any new messages, but neither Dean nor Gabriel had sent anything. With a groan, he sent a quick text off to Charlie to see if she was off work yet and able to come by to discuss the music with the steps he wanted to do. Within a few minutes his phone dings with a message stating she’s almost there.

Castiel walks into his apartment, letting the door swing shut behind him. The first thing he registers is the faint smell of cigarette smoke. He glances over to the counter and sees a stubbed out cigarette on one of his smaller plates. The sound of something heavy banging into his coffee table has Castiel looking back over towards the living room. Dean is staring at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. His hair is a complete mess, sticking up at odd angles, and his shirt looks like the same thing he was wearing yesterday. Castiel’s heart is beating so hard he can hear it pounding in his ears. Any exhaustion he might have been previously feeling has suddenly disappeared the moment he walked into his apartment.

“Cas…” Dean chokes out hoarsely.

He slowly looks back over to the cigarette butt on the counter. None of their friends smoke. Dean had said he was going for a drink and then back to their apartment. He never texted him back, so Castiel figured Dean decided against it and was sleeping. It was a long day, so the thought wasn’t such a far off one. He drags his eyes away from the cigarette back to Dean who is standing there, wide eyes looking completely panicked, holding tightly onto a grey shirt. He wouldn’t…Dean wouldn’t…They talked about everything, and they were fine.

Castiel searches Dean’s eyes for something – anything – just trying to find an answer to the question stuck in his throat. He desperately wants to be wrong, but it’s beyond obvious that someone was here. And the way Dean is reacting has Castiel’s head feeling like static.

“Please, Cas, let me just explain—”

“Don’t.” Whatever he is going to say, he isn’t ready for it. He took a chance and did what he promised himself he would never do, and he doesn’t even want to think about what all that entails.

He drops his keys on the counter as Dean’s voice snaps his feet into remembering how to walk again. He picks up the plate with the cigarette on it and just stares at it like it might possibly give him the answer on what to do.

“It isn’t what you’re thinking!” Dean pleads, stumbling around the couch and grabs onto Castiel’s wrist. “Please Cas, I—”

“ _ Stop _ !” He rips his arm out of Dean’s grip, tossing the plate down on the counter and ignores the sound of it breaking. He storms off towards his bedroom, trying to push down the pain beginning to throb inside his chest.

He notices Dean’s duffle bag on the couch as he passes, clothes tossed haphazardly into it like he was in a hurry. Was he really just going to leave without talking to him? Where was he going to go? Was he going to quit the company, or just come into dance pretending like nothing ever happened? There are so many questions that Castiel doesn’t think he will ever be ready for the answers.

“Just wait a minute, please!” He hears Dean stumbling after him and wonders for a moment if maybe he got drunk, or is possibly still drunk? “Wait, Cas! Don’t go in there!”

Castiel pushes the cracked door open the rest of the way and immediately his eyes fall onto his bed. There is a dark spot near the center of the bed, and something white and dried smeared over various other areas over the dark blue bedding. He knows enough from having sex or jerking off to know what dried come looks like on sheets. Castiel squeezes his eyes tightly closed trying to push back the rush of sudden rage coursing through him. The smell of stale cigarette smoke is strongest here and Castiel has to fight back from gagging at the smell.

He grips the doorknob tightly, debating whether to slam it closed so he doesn’t have to look at the bed anymore, or to lock himself inside away from the one human he truly allowed to get close to him. He swallows thickly trying to control the emotions beginning to flood him. He’s angry. So fucking angry, but it’s more than that. He’s confused, hurt, betrayed. Surely there must be another word, something  _ stronger _ , to describe how…how destroyed he feels right now.

He feels the warmth that radiates off Dean before he actually feels the touch of his hand on his shoulder. Castiel spins around slapping it away. “ _ Nyet _ ! Don’t touch me!”

Dean stares at him, eyes red and filled with unshed tears. How did he think this would go? Does Dean honestly think he would be okay with this? Any of this?

“You…you…” Castiel waves a hand behind him towards the bedroom, refusing to look at it again. “In my bed! After all we talked about!” A forced laugh bubbles up and he grabs a fistful of hair tugging at it. “I am such an idiot. It is good to know how little it all meant to you—I meant to you. Did you take everything I said and laugh about it with him? Am I just a joke? Because I feel pretty damn foolish right now for trusting you inside my home.”

Dean shakes his head frantically. “You aren’t some joke, and I would never do that! You know me better than that! You gotta believe me!”

Castiel watches as Dean’s eyes look briefly behind him to the bedroom. “Believe you? You just fucked someone in my bed!”

Dean flinches and ducks his head. “I don’t even remember—”

All those times he hears people talk about “seeing red” he never really understood until now. Sure he’s been mad before. He was mad tonight (last night?) with the guy trying to force himself on Jo. But even that wasn’t enough for him to feel the kind of rage he is feeling now. He has never let himself care about another person so deeply that he is unable to keep his emotions in check.

He walks the little space between Dean and him, shoving him in the chest. “Get the  _ fuck _ out of my apartment!”

Dean stumbles backwards, the back of his knees bumping into the coffee table. He stares wide eyed up at Castiel with tears running down his face. A twisted, dark part of himself is taking some sort of sick pleasure in watching the man cry. Another part of him wants to run up to him and beg to know why and what he did wrong. The two emotions are so strong and so confusing he can feel a twinge of a headache forming behind his eyes.

“I…I remember going to the bar. I just wanted to have a drink or two.” Dean’s low, broken voice whispers. “You were so annoyed with your brother and Rowena.”

Castiel rubs the bridge of his nose trying to block him out. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to know how Dean fell for another person. He just wants to pass out and pretend like the last few months have never happened. “Stop. I don’t want to hear this. Just leave.”

“I was almost done with my first beer. Or maybe I had finished it?” Castiel watches Dean scrunch up his face in thought. “Some guy sat beside me. H-He was nice, friendly. He bought me a drink while I was in the bathroom. I-I don’t think I wanted to at first, but then…but then I must’ve.” Dean looks over at him, blinking out more tears. “He had an accent. I remember the accent.”

Castiel’s stomach twists. He doesn’t want to hear this. He shouldn’t have to hear this. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration as Dean drops his eyes to the ground. The anger that had been giving him an adrenaline high is slowly seeping away, leaving him with only exhaustion from the previous night, and the start of a very painful headache surfacing.

“I remember feeling dizzy. I needed to get home.” Dean chokes out a sob.

Wait. “Dean, how many beers had to you had before this guy bought you one?”

“One,” he replies, voice barely audible. 

He’s seen Dean drink before, and it takes a whole hell of a lot of beer to get that man buzzed. That only leaves one other thing. Castiel bites his lower lip, debating whether or not that is what Dean is insinuating. He could be lying. This whole thing could be some sort of elaborate story after Dean got his quick lay, realizing he was going to be caught.

“It’s so fucking fuzzy after that, Cas!” Dean says, head snapping up. “I told him where I fucking lived!” His green eyes go impossibly wider, as more tears spill out. “I let us in, and—and when he started walking me to the bedroom I told him to leave. I—” Dean chokes, doubling over and gagging.

Castiel takes a step forward, torn between wanting to believe him or not. “Everything was spinning and I—I couldn’t move…”

“Dean, stop. You don’t have to do this.” Castiel says slowly taking a few steps towards him.

Dean looks back towards the bedroom then over at him. Castiel watches as the most broken looking smile spreads over his lips and he a sound crossed between a sob and a chuckle comes out. “You really think I could ruin what we have over some—some—”

Castiel closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Dean tightly. He feels Dean begin to sob, his hands gripping onto the sides of his shirt. “It fucking hurt so much! I remember how much it hurt!”

Whatever doubt Castiel might have had crumbles away as Dean’s body shakes with sobs into his chest. A deep sadness mixed with helplessness lies heavily over him. Anger for what happened to Dean fills him so quickly he has to stop himself from gritting his teeth too hard. He should have been there. He should have been able to stop it. Dean hasn’t been in town that long, he should’ve told him it wouldn’t be a good idea to go to the Bar alone.

Swallowing down the burning bile coming up his throat, he tries to comfort Dean instead. “Shh,” Castiel whispers, running his hand through Dean’s hair. “It’s okay now. It’s going to be alright.”

“I’m so, so, sorry!” he sobs, gripping tighter to the sleeves of his shirt. “Cas, I—I—”

“Shh, Dean,” Castiel whispers, running his hand through the back of his hair.

“I was trying to—to leave.” Dean stammers out in between sobs. “I—I knew what you’d think and I—I—I’m just so sorry!”

Cas kisses the top of his head as Dean’s fingers grip his shirt tighter, pulling his body closer into Castiel’s. Dean lets out something between a choked sob and a scream against his shoulder, as Castiel starts running his free hand up and down Dean’s back trying to give him some comfort.

Deep inside he knows nothing could possibly be of any comfort at this moment. Castiel isn’t even trying to pretend that he can understand what Dean is feeling. The amount of pain and violation he is feeling must be unimaginable. Castiel’s eyes begin to sting with tears as Dean lets out another broken sob, pulling against his shirt trying to bury his face deeper into the fabric.

“None of this is your fault,” Castiel whispers, kissing the top of his head again. “This isn’t your fault.”

Another sob racks Dean’s body as he shakes his head against his chest. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you, Dean. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. But what happened is not your fault.”

Dean keeps shaking his head against his chest as Castiel continues to run one hand through his hair and the other over his back, slowly. He kisses the top of Dean’s head in between whispering the assurance that what happened was in no way his fault.

Castiel is not sure how much time passes, and his legs have long since gone numb from kneeling on the ground, supporting Dean’s body weight against his own. Slowly, the sobs have subsided into shaky breaths and wet sniffs every so often. Castiel doesn’t care how sore his knees are, he refuses to break away first. He will kneel here until they bleed all damn day if it means it is helping Dean at all.

Without warning, Dean is pushing himself away from him. The unexpected movement has Castiel falling over backwards onto his ass, blinking up at Dean alarmed. The man’s tear filled, bloodshot eyes are wide, and he’s staring at the floor with a look of pure horror. His red, blotchy face from crying is steadily growing paler looking by the second. Castiel lifts his hand slowly, trying to offer some more comfort when he hears Dean whimper.

“When I—I woke up this morning there was—oh, fuck, Cas.” Dean looks up at Castiel slowly. “He didn’t use a condom. He—He—there was blood with his—his… I was so sore I could barely move and I—”

Dean leans over the little space between them and vomits onto the floor. Castiel looks back over into the open bedroom and his eyes rest on the dark spot on the sheets. He pushes himself up off the ground as Dean heaves out more onto his floor. He grits his teeth as he enters his bedroom, eyes fixed on that dark spot on his sheets. On closer inspection he confirms that sure enough, it is blood.

There are no words. None. No words that can describe this feeling. It more than anger or simple sadness; though those feelings are present. It is disgust that another human would force themselves on someone else against their will. It is helplessness that he can do absolutely  _ nothing _ to heal any pain, whether emotional or physical, that Dean is feeling. It is knowing that from here on out, Dean will have to carry what happen with him. Not just the physical marks, but the everlasting emotional ones as well.

Unable to look at the bed any longer, Castiel clenches his fists and walks past the living room into the bathroom and wets a washcloth. The smell of bile, rancid alcohol, and that stale cigarette smoke makes Castiel’s stomach twist unpleasantly. He carefully takes a slow breath through his mouth, and fills up a small cup on the sink with water. He has to keep it together for Dean. What he is feeling is nothing to what Dean must be going through.

Castiel walks back over to where Dean is leaning over his own sick, panting, with spittle hanging from his lips. Castiel sets the cup on the table, and carefully avoiding the mess, helps Dean to his shaky feet. He helps him maneuver enough around the mess, not to spread it further, but then notices vomit on his pants.

Castiel takes the rag and gently dabs it gently over Dean’s mouth. Bright green eyes blink up at him as he tries his best to force a small smile for comforts sake. The man’s face is covered in tears, snot, and probably other things he would do best not to think about. As he runs the rag over his face, trying to wipe the worst of it away, he refuses to break eye contact. The distant look in Dean’s eyes has Castiel beginning to worry about his mental state.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” Castiel whispers, lowering the rag.

Dean’s eyes blink back into focus as he stumbles backwards, away from him. “No!”

Castiel steps forward, grabbing onto Dean’s shoulders trying not to take the flinch Dean gives him as personal. It doesn’t hurt any less, but it’s just another reason Dean needs to get to a hospital.

“No one is going to believe that some guy was—was…”

Castiel gives a small sigh of sadness, fighting back the tears threatening to fall again. “Raped.” Dean terrfied eyes glance up, meeting his. He watches as more tears escape the man’s eyes, leaving new hot trails down his cheeks. “You were raped, Dean.”

A broken whimper escapes Dean’s lips as he sways against Castiel’s grasp. “It can happen and it has.” He blinks out a tear, trying to give Dean the best smile he can. “Can you do this for me, Dean? Please?”

“Cas, I don’t—I can’t—”

“It would put my mind at ease knowing you’re okay,” he whispers softly, squeezing Dean’s shoulders slightly.

Dean searches his face for a moment before lowering his head, his body sagging into Castiel’s hold. He gives a slight nod, and Castiel pulls him into him for a tight embrace.

“I swear I will never let anything else happen to you,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut and kissing the top of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nyet- No


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel should be tired. He has been up for over twenty-four hours, probably going on thirty-six, but his body is refusing to sleep. Castiel has no idea how he managed to stay awake at the hospital while Dean was getting examined, probably adrenaline. They hadn’t let him go back into the room with Dean until he was checked in and questions were asked. He had paced the waiting room, sipping on some God awful black sludge trying to portray itself as coffee.

He had sent off a few text messages asking Gabriel to go to his apartment and clean up the vomit before it became completely gross, and to air it out. His brother had called and demanded to know what was going on. Castiel said things were fine and he would explain everything later. After some convincing, Gabriel caved and said he would head over within the hour. Before they hung up, Castiel asked his brother to strip the sheets off his old bed and “burn them for all I care”. The silence went on for so long he had to look to see if the call hadn’t gotten dropped. Gabriel said he would take care of everything, and the line went dead.

The nurses and doctor made Castiel leave the room for the examination. He rubs the bridge of his nose as he remembers hearing Dean scream from the other side of the door. When everything was done and he was let back in, the nurse apologized, saying they needed to make sure he wasn’t the one hurting Dean. Even though he understood, it didn’t hurt any less. In a way he felt like it was his fault that Dean was hurt. He should have been there for him.

The police came and took statements from Dean, asking to look at his body where the marks were. Castiel hadn’t realize that there was any marks to begin with until the nurses helped lower Dean’s gown showing fingertip bruises on his hips and legs. There were some teeth marks on his thighs, scratches on his legs, and the nurses explained about the swelling, bruising and lacerations on his anus.

The whole ordeal seemed unreal and the sea of faces in and out of the curtained off ER room made Castiel’s head spin. Dean was given an IV drip for hydration, and one of the nurses was kind enough to give him something “to help him rest”.

Hours later they were released with instructions how to care for the discomfort and tearing, a note to follow up in a week to see how healing was going, and a card from one of the police officers saying they’d “be in touch”. Castiel isn’t dumb. Chicago is a big city. Finding one man that by description doesn’t even sound remotely familiar will probably never happen.

Gabriel had been true to his word, at least. The windows were cracked when they stumbled in. The floors had been cleaned, and even Dean’s duffle bag was out of sight. As they passed the kitchen, Castiel even noticed the broken plate was cleaned up, with his trash bag replaced with a fresh one. Half asleep, Castiel had led them into his bedroom. Halfway to the bed, Dean pulled away from him and tried to beeline it for the couch.

He’d spent thirty minutes trying to convince Dean that the bed had been cleaned, he was fine, nothing was going to happen, and he would stay awake until he fell asleep.

Castiel had held Dean as his breathing evened out. He’d sent a text to his brother, thanking him for taking care of things. He sent another to Balthazar and Kevin, letting them know he’d be in later than usual. He texted Rowena and reminded her Charlie would be, if she wasn’t already, dropping off the new playlist for her classes within the week, and the dance routine outlines were on his desk.

The sun has long since set which means he’s practically been up for forty-eight hours straight. He should have passed out when his head hit the pillow, but his mind seemed unable to shut off. Castiel sighs as Dean twitches in his sleep. The man is still practically laying on top of him; legs entwined, head laying against his chest. He doesn’t have the heart to move him or get up. There is something comfortable about Dean’s warm breath washing over his chest as he breaths steadily.

Castiel swipes his screen on again and scrolls through his messages, clicking on Dean’s name. He rereads the last text messages again, silently cursing himself for not realizing something was wrong when he didn’t respond.

**9:34pm** _ Alphie called asking me to come over. In a cab now, seeing it is the fastest way there. Jo’s date walked her to the door and wouldn’t leave. She got into their apartment but couldn’t close the door fast enough to keep him out. Alphie said he got into the room just in time to see the guy straddling Jo, and hitting her across the face. _

**9:34pm** _ . I left Gabriel a note saying I’d be back after I made sure those two were okay. Who knows if he’ll even see it before I get back. _

**9:39pm** _ You’re probably sleeping. Which is good, it was a long day. But at this rate I doubt I’ll get home before two am. Good thing Kevin is taking care of things in the morning. Don’t forget Charlie is coming by to go over music and things tomorrow. About a block away, so I will let you know what’s going on, on the off chance you get this. Sweet dreams, Dean. _

Castiel lays down his phone, and runs a hand up and down Dean’s back earning him a shaky sigh from the man. He should have been here. He can’t just look after himself anymore, he has a boyfriend now. Castiel huffs out a breath at the sound of that word “ _ boyfriend _ ”. Something he thought he could never have, and yet here he is lying in bed with Dean. Still, the word seems almost silly. Like something from high school that teenagers call themselves.

He adjusts himself, shifting slowly as not to disturb Dean, and slides onto his side so he can lie face to face with him. The freckled man mumbles something as Castiel wraps his free arm around his waist, pulling their bodies closer together. Castiel rubs the small of his back as he forces his eyes closed, willing himself to relax and settle down.

He has to do better. He has been saying it for months now, but after yesterday (today?) it is only more apparent how he’s been letting everyone down Especially Dean. It seems like from the moment he entered the studio for tryouts, he’s been the worst thing for Dean. Castiel promises to himself that nothing like this will ever happen again. Not to Dean or his friends. He will do better as a friend and lover to protect those he cares about. They deserve better. They all do. They all deserve happiness.


	13. Chapter 13

The morning after getting home from the hospital he explained to Dean how he had to return to the studio. The man acknowledged with a nod, rolling back over. After two days of telling all of their friends he was “just sick”, they all began to worry, asking to come over and visit. Castiel convinced them he was in no shape for visitors, but would be back by the end of the week.

Catching himself up on everything was proving to be a little bit more difficult than usual. Charlie was around almost every day after noon, working with everyone on editing their music selections to where it would work for them. He was always impressed with her skills in manipulating music to fit whatever need she had. Castiel couldn’t understand it to save his life, and was just lucky enough to know someone as brilliant and diverse as the spunky redhead.

By the end of the week, Castiel coaxed Dean out of bed for a shower. The man didn’t fight him when he slipped off his boxers, as Castiel led them into the shower together. Dean stood under the warm spray with his eyes closed, letting Castiel scrub him thoroughly from head to toe. He didn’t let him back in bed, but dressed him in comfortable pants and an old band shirt he found stuffed at the bottom of his mostly empty duffel bag, and sat them down on the couch. He put on Star Wars, knowing it was one of Dean’s favorites, and let Dean doze against his shoulder.

The next day Dean woke up with him as the alarm went off. Castiel didn’t comment on it, but held Dean’s hand the entire walk to the studio. Everyone greeted him with gentle words, and if they noticed him flinching away from their touches, they didn’t mention it. No one even commented on his lack of finesse as he stumbled over his own two feet. Over the next few days his silence gained enough attention for Meg to make a snarky comment. Bartholomew was close enough to try and calm the situation, but Dean ended up snapping and screaming at her. Before Castiel could get over to try and settle things down, they were both in each others faces.

As Castiel dragged Dean back to the wall of mirrors, Meg made some comment about how she wishes she could take weeks off but still have a job just because she was a slut like him, and sleeping with the boss. He felt Dean’s body tense up in his hands as the man stopped struggling to get free. Dean may have not meant to say the words, or maybe he meant to say something different and these just slipped out on accident. Regardless, when he whispers, “I was raped,” the silence that falls over the room has his ears ringing.

Meg has Dean in her arms before Castiel’s mind catches up that she’s moved. He hears someone sniffling like they’re crying behind him as he watches his ex lover embracing his new.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Balthazar whispers in his ear.

“It wasn’t my story to tell,” Castiel whispers back, heart aching as he watches Dean fall apart all over again.

It is two weeks after that when Castiel sees Dean smile again. It’s over something completely stupid that Balthazar has made sexual, of course. It is a week after that when Dean initiates sex. They’ve kissed since the incident, but Castiel has never pushed for anything more. At Dean’s last doctor appointment, the doctor took Castiel aside and told him that it would take time and to go at Dean’s pace. Never to push for anything more. Dean’s body may be healed, but his mind is still damaged. So when Dean pushes their usual goodnight kiss into a heated make out session Castiel is already painfully hard and trying to turn his hips away from Dean’s.

“I want this,” Dean whispers against his lips pulling Castiel’s hips back against his. “I…I want you.”

Castiel pulls back enough to search his face for any signs of hesitation. “You promise you will tell me to stop if it’s too much? Anything at all. I will never hurt you.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” he says, pulling their lips back together.

Castiel pulls his boxers down enough so that his dick springs free as Dean reaches over to the bedside table where the lube sits neglected. He hears the click of the lid as Dean’s body presses up against his, lips fumbling in the dark trying to reclaim his again. When Dean’s dick rubs against his he almost loses it. 

Castiel bites back a moan as Dean wraps a lubed hand over them, thrusting slightly into his hand. Dean nips at his neck as Castiel wraps his arms around his, shamelessly thrusting up into Dean’s hand again. Fuck, how long has it been since they’ve touched each other? He already so close and—

Dean sniffs in his ear, and Castiel’s body freezes. He’s suddenly aware that something wet is dripping down his shoulder to his back, and he starts to pull back.

Dean tightens his hold just a little bit, giving them both a few quick jerks. “Don’t, please. Don’t pull away.” His hand speeds up making Castiel’s head come back down and rest against Dean’s. “I need this—I need to feel you.  _ Fuck _ you feel so good, baby.”

“So good,” Castiel pants, slipping his hand down to join Dean’s. He twists the head of Dean’s cock just how he knows he likes it, and kisses into the man’s moan. “You feel so good. Missed this. Missed you.” He flicks his tongue in his mouth thrusting faster into their quickening hands. “Would’ve waited forever. Oh fuck,  _ Dean _ ,” he gasps, his orgasm ripping from him unexpectedly.

Dean isn’t far behind, coming with a choked sob. Castiel holds him with his clean hand until Dean’s sobs have settled enough that he can get up really quick to get a washcloth. He washes off his own chest and hand and then when he comes back, he wipes Dean off and gathers him back into his arms.

Dean’s shaking doesn’t stop until long after his tears have. Castiel holds him against his chest, rubbing his back and pressing gentle kisses over his face the whole time. As usual, since the incident, it isn’t until Dean’s breathing evens out that he allows himself to close his eyes.

The next day Dean is better. More talkative and slightly more of his carefree self. They don’t talk about last night, but simply have an understanding that it was what he needed and that it was okay. They have more sex after that. Castiel doesn’t try for anything more than hand jobs and sucking each other off; always going at Dean’s pace. Honestly he would be completely fine with doing nothing sexual and falling asleep every night with holding the man tightly in his arms. He tries to tell him all of this not too long after the first night, but Dean just rolls his eyes and drops to his knees and takes him in mouth with one quick movement.

Dean is right. He isn’t broken. He’s just healing.

It is Dean who brings up wanting to dance together. Castiel hasn’t realized the time when Dean walks into his office, sitting down in the chair next to Gabriel. His brother has enough actual decency to excuse himself to mumbling something about needing to call back Rowena. Dean raises his eyes in question, but he just cringes and shakes his head. He honestly has no desire to know what is going on there.

Dean pulls out his phone and hits play on the song, looking anywhere else but at him. By the end of the song Castiel feels a lump in his throat, and notices Dean has almost picked the skin around his thumb raw.

“Are you sure?” he asks tentatively.

Dean nods and balls up his hands, hiding his thumb under his fingers. “Yeah.”

Castiel leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “We’re in major practice stages for everyone's dances. The only time the room will be free after hours. We’re already here anyway, but now we would be…”

Dean shrugs, picking up his phone and starts to pick at the edge of his phone case. “I kinda talked to Charlie about it a little. Not details or anything, but uh, some stuff I wanted to, um, do.” He pockets his phone and clears his throat.

“Okay.” He tilts his head trying to figure out exactly what kind of headspace Dean is in at the moment.

“It’s gunna go along that whole ‘love’ theme, but, uh, different. I mean, our story is already all sorts of fucked up and I know we haven’t really had a chance to really just be like normal people or whatever because of how I fucked up, and I’m trying, but I was listening to this and dancing and I just kinda wanted to be dancing with you because—”

“ _ Dean _ .” Castiel says walking around his desk and taking Dean’s hands in his own as he kneels on the ground beside him. “Take a breath with me, okay?”

Dean glances up from his white knuckled fists and their eyes meet. “Ready? Breathe in. One, two, that’s good, three, four. Now out. One, two, three, four.” Castiel smiles and squeezes his fists in encouragement. “Again. One, two…”

Slowly Dean’s fingers unclench themselves and slip into Castiel’s empty spaces. After Dean is looking less panicked, he stands up and sits in the chair next to him.

“I just want to clarify a few things before we talk about what ideas you’ve been thinking of.” He takes Dean’s hands again, resting them on his knee, and smiles up at him. “Firstly, you could ask me to dance the cha-cha with you swearing pineapple hats and I would agree. Dancing with you is one of my few great joys in life, and when we do it feels like falling in love with my job all over again. Secondly, there is no ‘normal people’.” 

He lets go of Dean’s hand enough to do air quotes, causing Dean roll his eyes and laugh. “Did you really just do air quotes? You’re such a fucking dork.”

Castiel gives him an unheated glare. “My point is that everyone is different and unique in their own way. We are one of many millions of stories out there. The basic norm isn’t even high school sweethearts anymore, so I think the idea of trying to classify anyone is moot.” Dean slips his fingers into his again. It’s comforting and warm. Castiel strokes his thumb over the man’s knuckles, memorizing the way his soft skin feels.. “Lastly, you, Dean Winchester, are in no way fucked up.”

Dean flinches and tries to pull his hands away, slinking back into the chair. Castiel tightens his grip on one hand, and lets Dean’s other free to cup his face. He runs his thumb over Dean’s jaw line, holding back a shiver at how amazing his two day old scruff feels on his hand.

“Something bad happened to you. It was terrible. It was…” Castiel squeezes his eyes shut tightly, shaking his head trying to clear away the anger beginning to cloud his mind. “But it doesn’t define you. What happened to you isn’t because of who you are, or what you did, or any of that bullshit. You were drugged and taken advantage of. None of that was your fault. None of that was because you were ‘fucked up’ or stupid, or whatever else you want to blame yourself for. It was because you were taken advantage of.”

Castiel tightens his hold on both Dean’s hand and face, swiping his thumb probably a little bit more aggressively over his cheek than he means to. “You have come so far and didn’t let what happened beat you down or defeat you. That, in and of itself, proves how amazingly strong you are. How strong you've always been. You have such a beautiful soul. How you think of things and create art through dance just shows how gifted and intelligent you are.” He loosens his grip on the man’s face enough to move his hand to brush away a tear from Dean’s cheek. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Dean leans forward, half falling out of his chair, hands gripping tightly onto Castiel’s shirt as he sobs. Castiel kneels down onto the floor with Dean, wrapping his arms around him tightly, letting him cry.

It’s different this time. He isn’t sure how he knows, but when Dean’s sobs have subsided into shaky breaths, Castiel just  _ feels _ the weight Dean has been holding slip away.

“So, what you’re saying is, you’ll do it?” Dean asks hoarsely, flexing his fingers out his grasp on his shirt.

Castiel chuckles and straightens out his legs, wincing as the blood flow rushes back into his feet. “Do what? Dance with you?”

Dean gives him a knowing look and uses the chair as support to help him get back up. He winces as his knees pop, which makes Castiel chuckle again. “I would love to dance with you, old man.”

“Old man my ass. I’m younger than you by like, ten years, you ol’ geezer.” Dean groans, arching his back and sighing as it pops. “I’d like to see you get off that ground without it sounding like fireworks going off.”

“Six, thank you very much,” Castiel huffs, pushing himself up trying to ignore Dean’s raised eyebrow as his own knees pop. “Not a fucking word.”

Dean bursts out laughing. The kind of laugh Castiel hasn’t heard since before everything happened. The edges of his eyes crinkle, and the sound is just…perfect. If he had it his way, he would have Dean like this all the time.

As they walked back to the apartment, the snow that had been threatening to fall all day begins to fall around them in big, fluffy flakes. They bump into each other the whole way there, laughing at stupid little things that come tomorrow neither of them will really remember. Snowflakes catch on Dean’s eyelashes, and when he tries to see it goes cross-eyed. Castiel manages to pull out his phone quick enough to get a picture before Dean is chasing him up the stairs into their room trying to delete the picture.

They stumble to bed laughing between kisses and stumbling over stripped off clothes. As their kisses lead to more, Dean takes Castiel’s hand on his hip, and slips it lower to his ass. Castiel breaks away from Dean’s lips long enough to search his face for any hesitation or fear, but the man simply looks back at him with flushed cheeks and half a smile. Castiel grabs his perfectly round ass and gives it a squeeze. Dean’s eyes flutter closed as he massages it and then reaches for the lube on the stand.

They don’t speak in words, only in tiny gasps, moans, and sighs. When Castiel finally pushes into him, it’s as if everything else in the world as fallen away it’s just the two of them left. He makes love to him slow and gentle, until Dean starts chanting his name like a prayer. He speeds up, adjusting his hips just enough that has Dean screaming his name and coming over himself untouched. After a few hard quick thrusts, Castiel follows him, biting down lightly on Dean’s shoulder.

After they clean up, they lay in bed, Dean’s head on his chest, as he listens to the man tell stories about his childhood. He talks about his mother dancing in the kitchen, Sammy winning the spelling bee in second grade, and teaching his brother how to shave before he went to college. Castiel smiles in the dark, absentmindedly stroking Dean’s arm as he listens to the stories. Eventually sleep washes over Dean like a wave. After a few minutes of listening to Dean’s even breaths, Castiel joins him.


	14. Chapter 14

The days pass in a whirlwind of blurs and, now, music that has grown familiar and comfortable. Everyone’s dances are coming together smoothly; even Balthazar’s ridiculous three person tango is to the point where only a few tweaks need to be made. Meg still refuses to show him her dance, but Kevin (who is working with her in private) promises it is tasteful and something he’ll enjoy. Alphie and Jo’s dance requires some of the more experienced dancers from Rowena’s class, as well as Anna, Meg, and Kevin. It’s beautiful to watch their story unfold bit by bit. And at the end of every night, Rowena brings in her older students to join Castiel’s group as they practice Kevin’s dance. All and all, Castiel is optimistic about the performance being a hit.

Thankfully, Crowley has only shown himself only once. They were all in the middle of finishing up Castiel’s tap performance when their music cut off. Charlie started yelling at Crowley about touching her computer before Castiel had time to get over there and interrupt.

Castiel apologized and escorted sharp dressed man to his office where they could talk. Crowley demanded to know everything that they were doing, including a list of music along with who was doing what type of dance.

“I’ll wait,” he said, sitting back in the chair.

“You want me to write it out now?” Castiel asked, looking down at his cluttered desk of scattered papers.

“I am a very patient man, Castiel,” Crowley said, looking around his office almost bored.

“We have a month left for practice, and we were in the middle of—”

Crowley leaned over, shoving away a stack of papers away and onto the floor. “I don’t bloody care what you were doing. You are my investment and I need to go over the details and weed out what needs weeding. Above all, I need to be prepared for how badly this whole idea of yours is going to fail.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the man, rising from his chair slowly. “Then I suggest coming back tomorrow when I can have what you want.” He walks around the desk and pauses at the door frame. “I trust you’ll see yourself out. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“You can’t walk away from me!” Crowley shouted. “Do you even know what people are saying about you? You’re washed up! You’re on the fast track to becoming a nobody!”

Castiel turned his head, watching the man jump out of the chair, knocking it backwards. He knew well enough that Gabriel wouldn’t print anything remotely close to that. Lately, his brother had been doing stories on his friends and where they’d come from, how they came to become dancers and so on. The talk must just come from having any type of fame, and people out there wanting to rub mud on it. There are always going to be those types of people; those who try and stifle any flame.

“You seem to forget that you don't own me, Crowley. Perhaps next time you will visit a little bit earlier if you are concerned about what needs to be altered.” Castiel said, tilting his head to the hallway. “Seeing as I have limited time before the performance, I need to rejoin my friends.”

Crowley had stormed out the door, yelling promises that no one would remember his name. He swore that by the time the curtain fell, he would own him completely.

It's now two nights after the Crowley incident, and he and Dean are alone in the studio practicing their new dance. It has been hours since everyone left when Dean’s phone starts blaring some rock and roll song that sounds vaguely familiar.

“That’s weird. That’s Ellen’s ringtone,” Dean says, pushing himself off the floor.

Castiel walks over and pauses the music, pulling up his shirt to wipe some of the sweat off his forehead. He takes a moment to check his phone (no new messages), glances at the time and sighs. It’s nearing midnight and it feels like they’ve barely done everything they wanted to do.

He sets his phone back down on the windowsill, turning around to see Dean’s back to him. Castiel lets himself take a moment to enjoy the view of Dean’s sweaty black undershirt clinging to his wonderfully muscled back. He debates sneaking up behind him and kissing this neck just to be an ass and distract Dean on the phone.

Castiel’s thoughts jolt back to the present as he hears Dean yell, “What?!” and then quickly promises to see her as soon as possible. He’s leaving? The show isn’t for another month, but this is the time where every minute of practice matters. Especially when they’ve just started really getting set in their dance together. Dean leaving would mean that, possibly, Crowley was right. One terrible dance can ruin the rest, no matter how flawless and amazing they are.

“Dean, is everything alright?” Castiel asks.

“I…” Dean clears his throat and turning towards him. He keeps his eyes down at the phone in his hand. “It’s Sam. That was Ellen.”

A chill runs through him and he shudders. “Is Sam okay?”

“He’s…Ellen says he’s in the hospital,” Dean says, voice cracking on the last word.

Castiel rushes to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Dean steps out of the touch and shakes his head.

“Just don’t, Cas.”

A slight sting of rejection pinches his heart as he drops his hand, creasing his forehead in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Ellen said he was high or something. When the cops picked him up he had blood all over his mouth. He was talking about demons. Tried to fight them off,” Dean mumbles, burying his face in his hands.

Castiel watches as Dean’s shoulders begin to tremble. His hand twitches to reach out again to try and offer some sort of comfort, but he clenches his fist instead. The way he always spoke of Sam made it seem like he was an intelligent, straight nosed type of kid. What Dean is describing now is some of what Jo had said happened to her roommate. That means that Sam…

“He was…” Castiel swallows thickly, trying to make his voice remain calm. “Sam was hallucinating?”

Dean shakes his head in his hands.

“The hospital will take care of him. They will—”

“You don’t get it,” Dean says, voice muffled from his hands. Castiel takes in a sharp breath as he watches Dean raise his blotchy face from his hands, eyes red and glistening with tears. “My nerd kid brother doesn’t do fucking drugs! He gets excited over nonfiction books and science projects. Fuck, I raised him better than this, Cas! He’s just a kid! I should have…I should’ve…”

Tears blink their way free as Dean looks back down at his hands helplessly. Castiel has no idea what to say. He can’t imagine any words would even make a difference, no matter how strongly he feels or believes them. Doing the only thing he can think of to do, Castiel steps closer again, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze.

Dean jerks out of his touch, backing up a few steps and his green eyes giving him a piercingly cold glare. “It isn’t just some hallucinogenic. She said it’s that new street drug you hear about on the news. You know the one that warps your mind and you never get it back?”

“Yellow eyes.” Castiel barely hears himself whisper, a shiver shaking his body.

He knows the one. Not just from the news or articles online, but from what Jo has said about it as well. It starts out like a typical hallucinogenic, letting you see things like auras or wings. Sometimes people have even talked about seeing mythical creatures like faeries or tiny dragons. Harmless. Enchanting, even. There would have to be some sort of allure to it to make people want to keep using, he supposes.

The more you keep taking it, though, the more those happy things you’ve been seeing turn into nightmares. Jo’s roommate use to talk about hellhounds howling all night long, making it impossible for her to sleep. She claimed they were coming to drag her to hell, then would start laughing maniacally, completely forgetting Jo was even in the same room. 

The drug got its name from how it tints your eyes yellow after you’ve taken it a few times. Sadly, more times than not, people die from taking it one way or another. Their bodies either end up rejecting whatever chemicals are released into their system, or they take matters into their own hands. Some of the people in psychiatric wards going through withdrawals sometimes have moments of lucidity when they talk about unimaginable things. Hell, others would say. They see Hell.

Those that the drug doesn’t take in one way or another, end up being stuck in a never ending world of, well, Hell. To date, according to the articles and news reports, not a single soul has been able to come back to themselves. The earliest case able to be “contained” is currently residing in the Ohio Hospital for Psychiatry. There have been no improvements, and all they can do for the person is try to “keep them as safe and comfortable as possible”.

Jo had told him about the screams from trying to survive their own mind. Samandriel mentions every once in awhile how Jo will wake up screaming because of a nightmare involving her roommate throwing knives at her or trying to strangle her, while calling her a demon.

“Don’t you get it, Cas?” Dean’s voice cracks. “My brother is going to die.”

There isn’t anything he can say to make it better. Giving Dean any false comfort and denying the most probable outcome seems almost cruel. He deserves better than that. Castiel just stands there, hands clenched tightly to his sides as he feels his heart twisting inside him. Dean’s breath comes out in shaky sobs and Castiel wishes he could somehow take any of what he might be feeling away.

“He’s going to die,” Dean chokes out, eyes going wide as if his own words have surprised him. “Sam is going to… Maybe if I would’ve just answered his calls—fuck, we use to talk every damn week, if not more. But I’ve just been too damn busy with… with…”

It clicks what Dean is not saying. “With me.”

Dean’s eyes flicker up to his, and Castiel is momentarily lost in their brightness. Have they always been so light green, or is it just because of the contrast of them being bloodshot? He gives Dean’s pained expression a sad smile, wishing fiercely he could just hold Dean in his arms. At least he knows why he can’t stand to let Castiel touch him.

“This isn’t your fault, Dean,” Castiel says. “You couldn’t have seen this happening. You couldn’t have stopped Sam from taking drugs a thousand miles away.”

“Couldn’t I?” He gives a humorless laugh. “Actually talking to him maybe would’ve been a start!”

Castiel watches helplessly as Dean drops to his knees, leaning forward, fists slamming down onto the padded floor. Tears drip from his face as Castiel listens to the broken man cry.

“Maybe the  _ vrachi _ —the doctors—will be able to save him.” Even as Castiel says it, he knows its false hope. Something he doesn’t want to give Dean, but he’s not quite sure what else to do. Above all, Castiel is a physical man. Not being able to touch and give any type of comfort has left him in a difficult area where he’s left rambling. “They are finding different ways to treat every day and—”

“Save him from death just to be locked inside a nightmare the rest of his life? Seeing monsters in every person that comes around him? What kind of life is that?”

Castiel kneels slowly to the floor so he is at least eye level with Dean. Even if he cannot touch the man, he can at least make him feel less alone, hopefully.

“He is still your  _ mladshiy brat _ , Dean. Would you rather him to die than to live? Maybe with time the visions will fade. Who knows what the future holds? Doctors are discovering cures everyday for things, so why not this?” Castiel dips his head, trying to catch Dean’s eye. “But what I do know, is that it is better to be thankful that Sam is still alive than to wish him  _ mertvykh _ .”

Dean lets out a strangled noise hunching over, wrapping his arms around himself. It’s almost too much to take.

“Please,” Castiel whispers hoarsely. “Can—can I touch you?”

A broken sob escapes Dean as his whole body begins to shake with emotion. Castiel quickly moves forward, pulling Dean up enough to where he is able to wrap his arms around him better. Dean’s tears spill hotly down his chest as he cries, burying his face into the crook of his neck.

“ _ Vse budet khorosho. Ya obeshchayu, chto vse budet khorosho, _ ” Castiel whispers into Dean’s hair.

Castiel isn’t sure how long they sit there on the floor, while Dean slowly breaks apart in his arms. Words are meaningless at this point, more than likely unable to reach him anyway. Still, Castiel whispers promises against Dean’s skin; if not for Dean’s comfort, then for himself being unable to do anything. He rubs Dean’s back in slow circles, biting back his own tears as he feels the anguish coming off Dean.

Somewhere in the silence between them, lays knowledge that, yes, eventually Sam will die. Just like everyone else who has touched the poison. No matter how much either of them wish for something different, or talk in circles about the should’ve-been, could’ve-been, it all comes down to the reality of it. Choices were made. You cannot change what has already happened, no matter how devastating it might be.

Castiel has never considered religion or God much before. When the question of a higher deity comes about, he always looks around at the city, news on the television, headlines in the papers, and asks himself, “Where is God in all this”? Surely if there is some sort of God who cares for his people, children would not be dying in the streets, toddlers raped by their fathers, teenagers forced to sell their bodies just so they might earn enough for their little siblings to eat. Where is God in all of that?

Still, Castiel prays. Whether it is because of his helplessness he feels in the moment, or because of how fragile Dean feels in his arms, he prays.

Surely God can see this? How is it possible that He might shut his ears to this? How can He cause so much pain and devastation to someone who is nothing but good and light? It doesn’t make any sense to Castiel. He doesn’t understand how there is so much ugly happening to people who don’t deserve it—to the people who are walking a straight line and, damnit, they are fucking trying.

Castiel folds himself over Dean, almost as if his own body might be able to shield and protect this man from anything more. How much heartache and pain can one person take? He kisses Dean’s back, swallowing thickly as his eyes begin to burn with his own unshed tears. He prays harder, asking for some sort of a miracle for Dean’s brother. His words turn into screams inside his head, and he clenches his jaw, hot tears falling out onto Dean’s skin like rain. He prays desperately for God to take any ounce of pain away. He squeezes his eyes shut, face twisting as his own silent sobs begin to wrack his body. Castiel lets his prayers fade off into a mental broken record of asking “why” and begging “please” over and over again. Eventually, he the mantra becomes garbled nonsense inside his mind, and he focuses only on Dean’s breathing, making his mind as blank as possible. Silence is the only answer Castiel receives over Dean’s broken sobs.

Dean’s sobs eventually subside enough to where Castiel can help him off the ground to halfway steady feet. He helps Dean into his coat and boots, letting the man lean heavily against him. When Dean’s fist grips tightly into his coat, Castiel doesn’t complain, but holds Dean tighter against him as they walk the few blocks to their apartment. The only noise between them are dry, shaky sobs that neither one of them acknowledge. By the time they reach their floor, Castiel is more or less carrying Dean inside the door.

Castiel lets them in, kicking the door closed behind. He guides Dean into his bedroom without turning on any lights, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as the automatic lock clicks into place. Castiel moves away from Dean only to pull the covers back, and then slowly undresses him and himself. They climb into bed silently, reaching out for each other. They naked skin still chilled with the cold air outside is comforting, and Castiel pulls Dean impossibly tighter against his chest.

Shaky sighs slip out from Dean every so often, causing his body to tremble slightly. Castiel refuses to loosen his grip, almost in a silent confirmation to Dean that he has him and is here for him. Eventually, Dean’s body loosens up and relaxes into Castiel’s chest heavily. Castiel places kisses on his neck and shoulders, offering comfort. And when Dean finally speaks, his rough voice interrupting the silence causes him to jump a little.

“I have to leave.”

Castiel would be lying if he said he hadn’t seen it coming. He knew once Dean had told him about Sam, Dean would need to go out there, across the country, to be with him. The boy he raised by himself because his own father wasn’t man enough to take care of his sons. The boy that when Dean tells stories about his face lights up brighter than a thousand suns.

He would never deny Dean from seeing his brother. Castiel knows, though, that there is no way he can change or postpone the day of the performance. The show, as they say, must go on.

“I know,  _ vozlyublennyy _ . I know,” Castiel whispers, brushing a kiss against his skin.

Castiel tries to sound steadier than he is really feeling, but it still comes out pitifully weak all the same. He gives Dean one last kiss behind his ear, squeezing him lightly before resting his head down onto his pillow. There will never be any right words, no matter how hard he tries to search for them. A heavy silence, save for the police sirens muffled outside the window, fills the room. Unspoken words they both know but refuse to utter fill in the small spaces where their bodies aren’t touching.

Dean rolls over, pushing his back against Castiel’s chest, and joins their hands together against his chest. A forgotten tear slips out of Castiel’s eyes, running down his nose. He stares into the dark, listening to Dean’s breathing against him. Their linked fingers rise and fall together against Dean’s chest as Castiel tries desperately to capture this moment so he remembers it forever. There are a hundred different things he wants to say, but every time he opens his mouth, the words scatter away. None of them would probably mean enough.

Castiel knows that this is goodbye. He feels it hanging in the air above them, slowly pressing down on them. When he wakes up in the morning, he will be alone. Dean’s side of the bed will be empty, and that will be that. Castiel knows without having to hear the words that far too much devastation has happened to Dean for them to continue living happily. The darkest thought whispering inside his mind, the one he is trying to ignore while savoring the last moments with Dean, is that it truly is his fault; they both know it. And that is unforgivable. 

Castiel fights to hold onto his consciousness for as long as he can. He rubs his thumb along Dean’s knuckles over and over again, taking in the softness of his skin. He takes in steady, deep breaths, drinking in the man’s scent that he knows will undoubtedly linger on the pillow, haunting him nightly. Despite Castiel trying to keep his eyes open, the mixture of breaths and their hearts beating next together lulls him into Dreamland.

The last conscious thought before slipping into darkness, is how much he wishes he could tell Dean that he’s fallen in love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vrachi- doctors  
Mladshiy brat- little brother  
Mertvykh- dead  
Vse budet khorosho. Ya obeshchayu, chto vse budet khorosho- It’s going to be okay. I promise it will be okay.  
Vozlyublennyy- love (beloved)


	15. Chapter 15

It has been a week since Castiel woke up to an empty bed.

There wasn’t a note or even an article of clothing left behind to cling to. It hit Castiel on how little Dean really had to begin with. He should’ve done more, supported him better, provided the simple necessities, at least. It seems it was just so easy for Dean to just throw it all in a bag and vanish. Despite having so little, the man had managed to make the apartment seem so much more full. Dean’s presence alone just made everything more complete and whole. Now that he’s waking up alone, and Dean’s few things are gone, there’s an emptiness inside him. It’s leaving him feeling numb most days. He’s completely conscious to the fact that he is running on autopilot, for the most part. The void of life from the apartment itself was suffocating, and truthfully he hasn’t really been back since, except for a quick shower and change.

Everyone took the news with silence except for Jo. She ran out of the room sobbing, and Samandriel followed after to console her. Like the idiot he is, he had momentarily forgotten briefly about her old roommate’s addiction and overdose to the drug. Castiel told her to take the day off, and added it to the reasons to hate himself some more. Meg, for all the differences that they’ve had between them lately, actually offered to come over later to see how he was holding up. Castiel has no idea if she actually turned up. He didn’t go home that night. Or the next one.

For rehearsals, Balthazar stepped in for Dean’s spot. He was good, caught on quickly to what type of story they were trying to create, and the movements were precise. But it wasn’t Dean. It felt wrong, and the chemistry just wasn’t there, leaving their dances flat and almost robotic.

At night, after everyone had left for the day, Castiel lingered in their mirror room and listened to the playlist he and Dean saved together. He tried to feel something from the music, but nothing seemed to be able to breach the cold numbness that settled under his skin.

It wasn’t until the fourth day that Castiel finally received word from Dean. Jo and Samandriel had left earlier than usual to go out on their first official date, leaving everyone with giddy that it was _ finally _ happening. He was just pulling his sweatpants over his dance tights, contemplating Bartholomew, Anna, and Megs offer to go get a drink when his phone buzzed.

It was a simple four-word message. Nothing more. Nothing less.

**7:33pm ** _ Sam didn’t make it. _

He stared at it long enough for Meg to grow frustrated enough to take the phone out of his hand. He remembers her gasp and then the rest of the night was just a blur.

After a week and a half of simply running on autopilot and hearing from Dean twice more since the first text, Castiel is surprised that things are running as smoothly as they are. Everyone’s dances are seemingly perfect. The other classes they have to work together with a few of the songs are flowing smoothly, and even Rowena is being tolerable. Granted, that might be because he’s let her take the reins for most of the practices, but he is grateful nonetheless.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Jo asks.

“Of course,” Castiel says, nodding an “excuse me” to the teen, Michael, he was talking with.

Jo walks over to the corner of their room against the mirrors where their bags are tossed together haphazardly. She crosses her arms and stands up straighter. He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head back at her, trying not to show any amusement at her sudden display of determination.

“Everyone is worried about you, Castiel,” she says, holding up a hand. “And yeah, we know, you’re ‘fine’, or whatever bullshit you wanna spew at us. We’ve been quiet, giving you time to let it sink in. And trust me of all people when I say how much it can fuck you up dealing with something like this.”

Jo gives a small smile and reaches out, touching his hand lightly. She feels warm, almost too warm. He lets his hand stay still beside him, unwilling to flinch from the comfort she offers. Not like the ever-present numbness would let anything comforting in, anyway. But after feeling nothing for weeks, it’s almost like an old friend.

“We’ve been dancing together for years, Cas. Long enough that you can pretty much look at another person and tell what they are feeling.” She grasps his hand and gives it a quick squeeze. “Even if you haven’t been saying anything, we’ve been listening.”

“Jo, I appreciate the thought. It is Dean we should be worried about, not me. I’m just trying to get us prepared and ready for the performance,” Castiel says, giving her a small smile. He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles before letting it go.

“You think you’re not allowed to hurt, too? You think you have to stay strong for everyone around you? For Dean? Can you stand there and tell me honestly that Dean would have wanted to see you like this?” Jo shakes her head and turns away to stare out of the window.

She doesn’t understand it at all. If he hadn’t of monopolized all of Dean’s time, he would have been able to talk to Sam. If Dean had been more present and easily accessible, Sam probably, maybe, wouldn’t have turned to drugs. His brother would still be here if it wasn’t for him being so damn selfish. Wasn’t that what Dean had been implying before he left?

Even thinking those thoughts now, they seem stupid. A mixture of excuses and blame that doesn’t really make sense but after hearing all the stories about the brothers, it has to be him, doesn’t it? Sam was too smart to do drugs, and Dean has always been his best friend—his parent. Without Dean to talk to, Sam made a series of bad decisions ultimately costing him his sanity, then his life. _ Dean _ is the one they should all be concerned about. _ Dean _is the one who lost his family. Not him. He shouldn’t be allowed to feel any type of, well, anything. This is all, in a roundabout way, his fault.

The words are lodged in his throat. Their painful truths digging into his esophagus making his eyes prickle. Castiel opens his mouth to try and force them out, but nothing comes out. Instead he looks down at his bare feet, trying to push away the painful throbbing coming from his chest.

“You’re wrong, you know?” Jo says to the window. “You are allowed to feel things. You are even allowed to hurt, even if the pain isn’t directly involving you. None of this is your fault. None of this is Dean’s fault. Sometimes things just happen, and no one is really to blame.”

Even though she can’t see him, he still shakes his head. It is his fault, to some degree. He knows it. More importantly, Dean knows it. Dean couldn’t even deny it when Castiel spoke the words. It’s only a matter of time before everyone else knows it too.

He hears Jo turn away from the window and looks up at her as she steps in close. Her brown eyes are soft, full of unshed tears for a word he cannot seem to place at the moment. She reaches up and rests a hand on his shoulder smiling. “It’s not your fault.”

It’s like a dam breaks inside him that he hadn’t known was there. The numb feeling that’s been clinging to him since Dean left begins to melt like icicles in sunlight. The sob that overtakes him makes his legs wobble under the weight of everything. Through the mess of tears that blur his vision, Castiel is aware of her warm arms around his shoulders pulling him in tightly.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispers again.

His body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as another choked sob racks through him, and Jo willingly takes more of his weight as he leans into her embrace. Behind him, he feels another warm body wrap around him. Castiel buries his head into the side of Jo’s neck, forcing his heavy lead like limbs to wrap around and cling to her. Through his sobs, he hears the shuffling of feet and more warmth surrounding him.

Castiel peeks up and blinks through his tears to see what is going on. He feels his lips tremble as more tears fall out of his eyes as he sees all of his friends, including Rowena, surrounding him and Jo, all wrapped around each other in a group hug.

_ Compassion, _ Castiel thinks. That is the word he couldn’t place.

“We love you, Castiel,” Anna’s voice says from behind him. “Let us help you.”

“I didn’t ever have a family before. Not really,” Meg voice whispers somewhere by his ear. “Then I met you. We all did. You believed and saw in us something no other person ever bothered to even glance at. We love you, Castiel. Let your family be here for you.”

A broken sound escapes from his lips as his legs give out. He kneels on the ground and one by one everyone’s arms fall around him again. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but eventually everyone separates enough find their own space again.

He feels lighter, somehow. The thoughts are still there—a clouded, black thing on the edges of his consciousness—but Castiel doesn’t feel the weight anymore. Shaky sighs shudder through him as Rowena and Kevin leave and come back with the emergency stash of bedding they keep around for bad weather, or nights no one wants to go home.

“Aye, I think it’s a wee bit too late to be out on those streets,” she says, throwing a pile of pillows on top of Balthazar’s head. “A handsome man let on that he would be delivering us food and drinks in a bit.”

“Please tell me you’re not talking about Castiel’s brother,” Meg says, rolling her eyes. “There are like thirty years difference between you two.”

Rowena narrows her eyes but Kevin interrupts before she can say anything more. “It’s been awhile since we’ve all crashed together.” He places his pile of bedding down beside Anna.

“Group orgy before bed?” Balthazar says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Two pillows hit him square in the face, and he falls over dramatically.

Castiel smiles warmly at his friends as the pillows get thrown back in the general direction they came from; one hitting Meg and the other Bartholomew. For just a moment the room grows quiet. And then a loud whooping war cry rings out, and everyone dashes and jumps for pillows and blankets as the room explodes into a giant pillow fight. Before a pillow beams Castiel in the face, he even sees Rowena, pillow raised high over her head, running straight at Meg with an evil smirk over her lips.

This. This is his family. The perfectly imperfect mismatch of amazing human beings that by a simple happenstance he managed to meet and find belonging in. And honestly, he wouldn’t change a thing.

“Thank you all for coming to the sixth annual performance from Steps run by the talented choreographer and dancer, Castiel Dmitri Krushnic!” Applause thunders loudly around them, as Castiel stares at Crowley standing in the middle of the stage giving the crowd a smug smile. “He not only puts together the performances you are about ready to see, but runs and owns the prestigious dance studio in our very own Chicago. He has helped many get scholarships, getting them into college. Others, he has taught and gotten them job interviews lined up, hopefully to be the next rising stars! ”

The applause slowly dwindles down when Crowley clears his throat. “When you entered tonight you were presented two pieces of paper. On one you were to write what the word ‘love’ means to you. And on the other, the opposite. It could be anything from hateful words, to anything associated with fear, or really any other type of thing.” He waves his wrist to the crowd. “I will now have the children from Miss Rowena’s class come around with baskets and collect them.” A chorus of “aw” echoes back to Castiel and he smiles imagining how the little kids look. Charlie had designed them all fancy dresses or suits with bow ties. “Yes, they are quite adorable, aren’t they? Now, as they are getting around to everyone, let me take this moment to introduce their lovely instructor, Miss Rowena MacLeod.”

More applause sounds as Castiel turns and walks away from the stage. Now it will be more or less the same speech the two have given for the past two years. At some point he will talk about dancers the studio has sponsored to get into school, and how the actual business is doing. Rowena will speak about the different ages they teach, private sessions offered, as well as the programs offered. Usually, Castiel will watch everything, just in case something was to happen, but today he doesn’t have the patience to stand still.

It isn’t nerves. He has been bred since birth to become immune to crowds and audiences. Regardless if this is something completely different than the following shows they’ve put on, he isn’t worried about the people enjoying it. It’s fresh, new, but still filled with the same kind of amazing art he’s always put on. Just in a different kind of way. Still, there is something underneath his skin, a feeling no matter how hard he tries, he cannot just ignore it. The more he thinks about it, the less he can pinpoint why it’s there.

Castiel fiddles with his tie as he walks down the hallway in search of one of his seven dancers. After Rowena is done speaking, his little group will be up for their opening number. That is, everyone but Dean. His tap shoes echo loudly down the hallway as he tries his best not to slide on the smooth floor. Why hasn’t he seen a single of one of them? They should be up by the curtain ready to get out there. They are usually so much better prepared than this, let alone having discussed time management getting on and off the stage for this particular performance.

“Castiel!” Charlie calls running towards him waving her hands frantically above her head. “Hey! I’ve been looking for you!”

Oh no. Did something happen? “Is the music okay? Did something happen with the lights? Are the outfits—”

“Hey, whoa dude. Calm your tits.” Charlie rolls her eyes and points back down the hallway where she came from. “Everything is fine up in command central.” She taps her headphone set. “If it wasn’t someone would’ve said something. I promise you smooth sailing.”

He tilts his head at her. “Then why were you looking for me? I really need to find everyone. Have you seen Meg? Jo?”

Charlie gives him that impish smirk she gets when she’s up to no good, and slips her arm into his tugging him back down the hallway. “So, I got something you might wanna see Oh Captain, my Captain.”

“I really don’t have time to—”

“Dude! Tonight I have the power, okay!” She taps the headpiece again with her freehand, narrowing her eyes at him without any real heat. “They go when I give the green light. When I have I ever steered you wrong? Just trust me, okay?”

“You have two minutes, Charlie,” he says, allowing himself to be dragged back down the hallway from where he came from.

Charlie shushes him as they go through the door leading to the side overlooking the stage. Crowley is still out there, wrapping up and reminding people about the theme of the show. They get to the edge of the stage where the curtain hangs parting the main stage from the back, and gasps. There are all his friends along with what looks to be Rowena’s young adult class, standing motionless waiting for the curtain to rise.

Charlie raises her hand, pressing a button on her headset. “Alright Crowley, wrap it up. Ash, get ready with the lights.” She motions to someone he can’t quite see across the stage. “Gilda, one minute till curtain.”

“Charlie, what is going on. This isn’t… What is this?” he hisses, waving his hand over to everyone.

“Copy that. Ash, fade off Crowley and fade in main lights. Gilda, thirty seconds.” Charlie glances up at him and winks.

Thirty seconds feels like a lifetime when you’re holding your breath. As Castiel is slowly counting down the seconds, Charlie keeps whispering things over the headset, sometimes motioning different things across the way. It isn’t until a single bright light off to the side of him shines over the group of dancers and Charlie starts counting down from five, the curtain begins to rise with the music starting that he takes in a breath.

Jo is leading the group of dancers as they begin moving. He feels a mixture of pride and confusion as he catches her give him the quickest of glances before moving forward onto the stage. The song is vaguely familiar, and he thinks Dean has probably played it for him before. It isn’t until the chorus hits that tears are stinging at his eyes again. The song is about addiction and recovery.

“This is dedicated to the young man’s brother. Samuel, I believe.” Rowena whispers beside him. He hasn’t even noticed her walking up. “And to the many others out there affected by their own different demons.”

Castiel blinks a tear free, watching everyone move on the stage. “How did you have time to do this?”

Rowena chuckles quietly and he steals a quick glance beside him to see her smirking behind her red fingernails over her even darker red lips. “Let’s just say that those you’ve been teaching? They’ve been listening. Mind you it isn’t in any way perfection, dear. But I do think the idea comes across loud and clear.”

His eyes are unable to leave the dancers; Charlie’s quiet murmuring into her headset falls away. Castiel’s eyes stay fixed on everyone moving. Rowena is right. It isn’t perfect. Some of the people stumble or hesitate in their moves. He even sees Kevin become lost for a second. Castiel blames the teacher part of him for having to be so in tuned to seeing mistakes. Given the timeframe they all had to put this together, it is beyond amazing. The mistakes don’t matter. If anything, they make it better. Life isn’t perfection. Addiction, of any nature, is messy.

When the song ends and the lights fade, the audience is silent. The applause doesn’t start until all seven of his friends are next to him, faces beaming. He hears the applause taper out and tries to ignore the low murmurs from the crowd of strangers. Instead, there are many words he wants to say to them all. Just as he is about ready to open his mouth Charlie taps her foot loudly putting a finger to her lips, then taps the watch on her wrist. The others nod in understanding and slip out to change their wardrobe as some of Rowena’s students shuffle past. Castiel steps off to the side, closer to Charlie, confused. This isn’t the lineup they had discussed.

“Rowena suggested having Michael’s piece go next to allow for your people to get ready,” she whispers as she frantically taps on her cell phone. She glances up and presses the side of her headpiece. “Thirty seconds guys, get the lights on. Ash, you good?”

Castiel shifts trying slip back over out of Charlie’s way without his tap shoes being too obnoxious. Charlie just gives him a look and begins talking over the headset again; motioning to whomever is on the other side of the stage. After a few moments, the stage lights up. Castiel squints at the stage, seeing a few kids standing on top of tables. The music starts and they begin moving and tapping with it.

“These guys aren’t bad,” a hushed, deep voice he would know anyway whispers.

A part of him doesn’t want to turn and have the voice he thinks he’s hearing be just a figment of his imagination. Castiel has let himself fantasize about it would be like if Dean came back. Another part of him knows the truth. Castiel takes a moment, closing his eyes, and lets the sound of the music and loud steps fade away. When he opens them and turns towards the sound of where he heard the voice, a small smile falls over his lips.

Dean is standing there looking as breathtakingly handsome as ever. He’s wearing a suit, similar to his own, except the tie is a silky blue instead of black like his own. Naturally, his white shirt is haphazardly tucked in. His hair is mused and looks a little frantic like he’s been running his hands through it too much. It’s perfectly Dean and Castiel wouldn’t have it any other way. Dean’s eyes go soft as a slow smile spreads over his face. Castiel’s fingers twitch to reach out and touch him, but he restrains himself. He isn’t sure he is allowed, anymore. They haven’t really texted let alone talked since Dean left, and Castiel is not really sure where that puts them.

“Heya Cas,” he breathes.

Applause rings out, much louder than before. The students hurry offstage, walking between them enough to break Castiel’s vision from Dean. He sucks in a slow breath and runs a hand over his face. He hears the loud click-clacks of multiple pairs of feet before he sees his friends. The sound of loud whispering and excited words of welcome make Charlie give them all the stink eye.

“I seriously do not get paid enough to have to deal with you grown ass adults unable to keep yourselves quiet,” she mumbles, typing into her phone. “Castiel, this is your whole shebang and all, but I am reminding you about the need to keep it as formal as possible.” She glances up and gives him a knowing look. “Because you-know-who is already pissy that this isn’t an actual musical or whatever, and some kind of dance recital.”

“I assure you what we have planned will be like watching a movie unfold.” Castiel whispers back, adjusting his tie.

“Stage is clear, head on out,” she whispers, nodding towards the empty blackness. “You don’t have to explain things to me, Cas. Helped you piece it all together, remember? Now you just have to prove it to the big man.” She winks and gives him a shove.

Castiel steps out onto the stage slowly, taking in low steady breaths. Out of all the times he has been on stage, he has never been quite as nervous as he is now. Even though the stage is dark, the emergency lights somewhere off to the side give him enough light to see the mark showing the center of the stage. He faces the crowd, arms held loosely at his sides.

“When you hear the word love, what do you think of?” A male voice he’s unable to place says over the speakers. “It could be a beautiful sunset, a well loved teddy bear, a mother, a father, or perhaps a lover. We challenged ourselves to find a way to show you what the word means, in our own way. Each story is very much our own, yet the word itself connects us; intertwining our lives that one may question if we were ever truly apart to begin with.” The voice pauses and Castiel lets out a slow, shaky breath as he hears a few murmurs from the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I give you Steps, and their performance of _ Love _.”

Lights off to the side of him dimly turn on as the music Charlie has created to go with his dance begins to build as he taps his heel against the ground. Castiel lets out a breath he was holding and closes his eyes, letting his feet move. It’s like riding a bike. The steps are so well rehearsed and easy now he doesn’t even have to think about what comes next.

As he spins around, jumping into the air, a chorus of footsteps behind him accompanies his steps. A smile pulls at his lips as the music builds and their rhythm flows. _ This _. This right here is his happiness. Right now, moving across the stage with his friends, doing what he loves, is what he was always meant to be doing. It almost lost sight of that. If it wasn’t for Dean coming into his life, his whole business might no longer belong to him.

The song pauses enough for everyone to clear the stage but him. Castiel begins moving again after five beats, knowing his friends are clear of the stage, and off changing for the next song. He keeps his eyes closed, breathing steadily, allowing his body to move however it needs. He trusts it.

When Castiel finally stops right on cue with the music, he finally lets his eyes open. The spotlight Ash has on him shuts off seconds after, leaving him to blink blindly at the darkness as he tries to make his way off stage. Charlie is there, leading him off to the side as he unbuttons his jacket, throwing it to the side. Before he can even have his shirt off, a red light lights up the stage and the music begins. 

A laugh bubbles up as he hears tap fly over the floor in time with the music. Meg has never allowed Castiel to know what she was doing. Against his better judgment, he accepted Kevin’s word that what Meg has planned was acceptable, and he would actually enjoy it. With all the different forms of dance she knows, who would have ever thought she would choose the one she hates the most? Tap, of all things, was never her strongest; it was his. Lord knows the amount of complaining they all had to endure from her while going over steps.

And here she is. Tapping to a song that Castiel is sure is a private “fuck you” to him somehow. They were never destined to be in love, but it had happened to her regardless. Life can be so cruel. But what the pain creates—what Meg is creating—is sassy, sexy, and powerful. A sense of pride fills him as he leans against a beam, watching Meg sway her hips back and forth.

A warm, familiar weight of a hand brushes the small of his back. Castiel’s lips part out in a sigh, as he leans back into it. “Watching her dance makes me think you must be a hard guy to get over.”

Dean’s lips brush over his ear, and the warmth of his breath has a shiver shaking his body. He licks his lips, not taking his eyes off of Meg, but hardly aware of what is going on all the same. “You know you don’t have to do this.”

Dean traces his spine with a fingertip until he reaches his neck, and then spreads his fingers into the back of his hair. Castiel leans back into his hand, eyes fluttering closed. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, Cas.”

“Get ready.” Charlie whispers beside them. He had almost forgotten where they were and that other people were around.

The light fades and Meg is rushing off on the opposite side as Balthazar enters. Castiel glances back at Dean quickly before following Balthazar to the furthest side of the stage. He presses himself against his friends’ naked back, palm against the side of his face.

When the music starts, Balthazar grabs his hand and flings him to the side quickly before tugging him back. They continue to dance as if they are fighting against each other up until it’s time for Castiel to allow himself to spin out and away from Balthazar as Jo walks in taking his place smoothly.

He only has a moment to stand off to the side, panting trying to catch his breath before he walks back up to Balthazar as Jo struts away. This part of the tango is a bit more complicated, and even rehearsed as it is, Castiel still has to focus, counting off the beats in his head. Balthazar’s eyes never leave his face, even as he lifts him upside down over his head.

When his feet touch the ground again, he walks off stage, pretending not to notice that Dean isn’t anywhere he can see.. Anna is already behind Balthazar, having snuck onstage while his friend had him upside, and they begin moving as if it had just been the two of them the whole time. Castiel watches his friends for a few more moments before ducking away and back to the corner to switch outfits again.

There is a slight burn beginning in his muscles, and he rolls his shoulders, trying to loosen everything up. The next song is him and Meg, and it is probably one of the most complicated dances he’s ever done. Out of all the ways to dance, contemporary is the most difficult for him to grasp. There is no technique or set way to do things. It is simply just moving through skill and moves planned out beforehand. Meg had insisted that if she was going to have to do this “love bullshit”, her version was going to have him in it.

Anna and Balthazar walk off as he and Meg walk on. The light has dimmed, but not faded as Castiel stops letting Meg walk to one end of the stage. The music starts and he slides across the stage to where she stands. The dance is fast, intricate, and horribly complex. The story itself is heartbreaking, but due to the length, leaves you confused and almost wanting more. Almost questioning what you just saw. It is almost the perfect representation of their “almost” relationship, Meg likes to say.

As Anna and Bartholomew’s song begins, Castiel is throwing off his sweat soaked white tank top, panting like he just ran a mile. Dean walks up out of nowhere to him holding out a bottle of water and he accepts it gratefully, downing it all in a few gulps. He nods his thanks as the audience gasps at the couple on stage.

Charlie is somewhere on the edge of the stage still, whispering into her headset every now and then as more gasps come from the people in their seats. Dean nods towards the door and Castiel nods back, following the man out. The temperature change from the stifling on stage air to the clean open air of the hallway is intense. He sucks in the clean air greedily, as the door closes, muffling the music.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call while I was in California,” Dean says.

“I think the last thing you need to be doing right now is apologizing,” Castiel says shaking his head, stepping closer to him.

“I shouldn’t have blown you off like that. I just left you and—_ sonofabitch _!” Dean runs his hand over his face, looking up at the light on the ceiling like it might give him some type of divine clarity. “It all just happened so fucking fast, and I didn’t know what way was up and what way was down, and you were the only person who could actually ground me. And the last fucking thing I wanted was to admit it was fucking real and Sam was…That he was…” He swallows loudly and looks back over to him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “That it was all real.”

Castiel steps forward, arms opening to wrap Dean in them but he raises a hand pushing against Castiel’s chest and steps back. “I just can't. Not right now.”

A stab of pain shoots through his heart before Dean shakes his head. “No, no. Not that. I just,” Dean takes his hand and squeezes it tight. “I’m barely holding it together right now, and if you hug me I’m going to lose my shit. Game over.” He gives a halfhearted chuckle.

“You don’t have to do this, Dean. You don’t have to go on.” Castiel glances back towards the door, squeezing Dean’s hand before letting it go. “Balthazar is comfortable enough to dance in your place and—”

“I’m not having that asshole steal my story.” Dean growls, standing up a bit straighter. “S’bad enough that the guy had to practice with you in my place while I was gone.”

He tries to hold back the smirk, he really does, but Dean sees it anyway and rolls his eyes. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were jealous.”

“Whatever. Don’t you have a show to run or something?”

“Mm, I think in between Charlie and Rowena right now it is pretty much covered at the moment.”

“Doesn’t sound like the same uptight man I left. Who are you want what did you do with Castiel?” Dean smirks nudges him with his shoulder. “Who's next? Is the line up still the same?”

Castiel nods and walks back to the door. “Two of Rowena’s classes are next and then Samandriel and Jo will perform, leading us into intermission. Our song will be the opening for the next half.” His hand hesitates on pushing it open.

Dean stops for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, looking up and down the aisle. “It wasn’t your fault, ya know.” Castiel just stares back at him. Out of all the ways he saw things happening, this was not one of them.

“It was never your fault,” he continues, looking intensely at him. “I said a bunch of bullshit that I didn’t mean—that you don't deserve— and I’m sorry.” 

Maybe a part of him had been waiting to hear an apology to know it, truly, wasn’t his fault Maybe a part of him knew and just couldn’t accept it. Even hearing Dean say it, nothing changes. Time doesn’t stop, they don’t run into each other’s arms like you see on some romcom, and the music doesn’t change to fit the mood. Castiel gives him a simple nod, acknowledging the apology.

“It’s going to be great,” Dean says, nudging his shoulder as he walks past Castiel through the partially open door. “It already is.”

Intermission is a whirlwind of excited voices, readying the next rack of outfits, and various kinds of shoes slapping against the ground. Samandriel and Jo’s performance was so raw that no one really knew how to react after it ended. It took a few moments for the audience to actually come back to themselves, or at least that is what Castiel is trying to convince himself. The yells and claps were near deafening, and lasted long after the lights turned back on to announce intermission. Kevin seems to have caught a high from being able to use some of the street dancing moves Meg has been, apparently, teaching him. Uriel, Raphael, and a few others form Rowena’s class gives Meg and Kevin even more praise on their steps back in the changing rooms.

Castiel hasn’t been able to steal another moment alone with Dean. Everyone, even Meg, is engaging him with exciting stories about things that have gone on in his absence. Jo is proudly standing with Samandriel’s arm around her waist, and he doesn’t really think he’s ever seen Alphie grin so wide before. After everything it took for the two to get to where they are, and the hit their story was tonight, the man has all the reason to be on cloud nine. 

All too soon Charlie swoops in and gives them the fifteen minute warning. People break off into their respective groups to go and get ready, as Castiel grabs a white button up shirt from the clothing rack to go with his black tights. Dean meets him in the hallway wearing a dark green henley with a pair of black tights. Together they wordlessly walk the never-ending way to open the door for backstage.

Charlie is frantically whispering something over the headset and typing something into her phone as Dean gives him one last look before walking out on the stage. Castiel watches Dean’s dark shadow walk over and stand in front of a lump on the ground he knows from practice is a duffle bag. Simple. Something a backstage hand can easily swipe off stage without drawing too much attention.

The overhead lights dim until the room is dark and murmuring voices from the crowd have gone silent. Charlie is counting in a low whisper beside him, and then on “one” she squeezes his arm in reassurance before the voice from the chosen music starts singing and he walks on stage.

They practiced and talked about this song a lot. More so than any of the others, due to the sensitive matter. It is personal to both of them, and most of the time when they went over moves late at night after everyone had left for the day, it would take lead to one of them breaking down. When Dean left, Castiel debated about scratching the whole thing. It is a part of their story, and having somebody else dance in his place seemed wrong. Somehow Balthazar convinced him that “the show must go on” and without their story, the following dances wouldn’t flow.

Now, as the song fills him and watches Dean look up from throwing prop clothes into a bag, it’s like that day happening all over again. As Dean tries to walk away from him, Castiel grabs him, and for a second their eyes locked. Time somehow moves in slow motion, and Castiel is hyper aware of the tear sliding down Dean’s face. He’s knocked back into present time as Dean rests against his back, and they lock elbows.

It isn’t until after the chorus, when Dean leaps onto his back, joining him again after a brief solo, that he gasps. Dean is trembling ever so slightly, and the weight of the reality of their past has him wishing he could just wrap Dean in his arms instead of pushing him away.

Castiel dips him and then picks him up in his arms effortlessly, tossing him in the air bridal style. He holds onto Dean a beat too longer than he should, so that when he sets him down to walk away from him, Dean has to hurry much quicker to disappear offstage.

Somehow, Castiel isn’t really sure how he manages to get to his next marked spot on the floor and Dean hurries from out of the shadows to jump on his back again. Castiel effortlessly flips him over his shoulder and they stand there, forehead to forehead, panting against each other’s lips. They each have a hand gripping the back of their necks, and Dean gives a squeeze to which Castiel replies with one of his own. There is no ignoring the streaks of tears over Dean’s cheeks. Even the audience should be able to catch the tears glistening from his cheeks if they are really watching. Castiel hesitates for only a second before squeezing his eyes shut and forcing himself to push Dean away. He truly doesn’t think he’s ever hated himself more.

He is ridiculously aware that Dean is off to the side of him as they begin to dance the same steps in time. It hurts. Oh God does it hurt. Breathing is becoming painful, and he lashes out with a strong kick before spinning and collapsing onto the ground. He knows the scream is supposed to be mouthed, but his eye catches a glimpse of Dean spinning himself to the ground off to the side, and a real scream escapes. He tries to muffle it against his arm, but the wide-eyed, panic look Dean gives him knows it didn’t work out so well.

Slowly pushing himself off the ground, Castiel half crawls, half slides over to Dean. Dean puts a hand out to touch him before remembering himself and pulling it back. They rise slowly from the ground, eyes locked together, breathing heavily. Castiel rests his hands on his knees, bent over trying to will the pain in his heart to ebb just a little. Dean gives him a broken smile before he cups his cheek, rubbing his thumb over his five o’clock stubble. He sighs into the touch, eyes never leaving the beautiful man’s face.

Castiel could give two shits that none of this is scripted.

Dean’s hand falls away slowly as he steps away. Castiel follows suit and backs up a few steps, trying to catch back up to where they are supposed to be. The music builds and Castiel recognizes it as the beginning of the end. He bends and spins as Dean steps towards him. Castiel picks him up and barely tosses him into the air. Dean’s feet hit the floor and he dashes off to the side. Castiel hurries after him and leaps over his body as Dean crouches unexpectedly to the floor.

They both leap up again, running to each other and practically crashing into one another. Castiel lifts him in the air, spinning him around. When Dean’s feet hit the floor, the fake punch to the gut has the air leaving his chest as if it were real. He looks slowly back up at Dean before flipping and spinning away.

Most of their dance has been tossed out the proverbial window at this point. Castiel knows that to the untrained eye maybe it all looks like what is happening was supposed to happen—or at least he hopes it does. But when he watches Dean grab his shirt where his heart is, stumble forward, and let out a broken sob he rushes forward pressing the man tightly against his chest. He kisses the side of his head as Dean buries his face in his neck letting out against broken sound.

What feels like a minute, is only a few seconds on stage. Dean gives a slight nod and they separate enough for their hands to join as Castiel pulls him up into a leap. Dean lets go and walks away from him. Castiel swings his arm trying to grab him, and Dean ducks down and off stage, leaving Castiel to stand there till the music and lights fade, looking off to where he’s “disappeared”.

Dean stays right at the edge of the curtain, eyes never leaving his. When the lights dim and the music fades, Castiel rushes forward pulling Dean against him with more force than probably necessary. Everything else fades into static as their lips find each other in the dark. It’s messy, rough, and unbalanced from weeks of being apart. Their teeth click together, one of them is chuckling, and their hands can’t stop touching their faces, reassuring the other that they’re really there. 

It is Charlie who interrupts them, of course. She clears her throat loudly, trying to make herself look intimidating. Dean gives a shaky chuckle, and she rolls her eyes nodding to the exit door behind her. Someone is dancing on stage, and Castiel for the life of him cannot remember who it is or who is up next. Dean slips his fingers in between his own, and they both stumble out the door.

They make it as far as the next doorway before Castiel tugging Dean back into him, cupping the man’s face in his hands. His thumbs brush away the already dried tear trails on his cheeks, but he kisses each cheek lightly just to make sure. Dean presses his body closer against his, as Castiel sighs, resting his forehead against Dean’s. He hears muffled laughter, footsteps, and a door slam somewhere as Dean trembles slightly in his arms. 

Castiel begins to form an apology to not reaching out first, but Dean dips his head just right catching his lips, and steals the words right from his lips. Castiel’s fingers grip hard at the shirt as he tries to remember where they are, and what is considered appropriate. It’s a hard thing to focus on when Dean’s tongue is moving over his like he’s a damn porn star. 

Slowly, the heated kisses and desperate clutches turn into delicate kisses, in between hushed whispers of apologies and how much each of them missed one another. Their hands drift from different parts of their body, almost as if they, themselves, are relearning the flesh and how the other reacts to simple touches. Instead of weeks, it feels more like months they’ve been apart.

When a tap on the shoulder comes, neither of them are surprised. Castiel looks back at Jo giving an eye roll. “Finale time, boss. Let’s finish this thing with a bang, yeah?”

Reluctantly they let go of each other enough to straighten out their clothing and follow Jo down the hallway, just outside the door to the stage. Everyone else gathers around them as Castiel gives Dean a quick peck on the cheek before walking up beside Rowena.

Rowena stands there, eyebrow raised with a smug look on her face. “Are we ready then?”

Castiel looks at the hallway full of people wearing white articles of clothing, all varying ages, genders and walks of life. Some he recognizes, some he doesn’t. But what holds true throughout everything is that each one of them holds a story; their own, each individual story that is just aching to get out. And he knows, then, come whatever may, he will do his damnedest to make sure all their stories are told.

When his eyes finally rest on Dean’s face, he cannot help but smile and give Rowena a slight nod. “Ready.”

The spotlight shines down on Kevin as the music starts.

“At the beginning of our show you were each given two pieces of paper. On one we asked you to write what the word ‘love’ meant to you, and then the opposite for the other,” a female voice says over the speakers, working nicely with the music playing around them. Castiel watches as Kevin unfolds a piece of paper that lists all of the things people have said about him, which eventually led to him hating himself for so long.

“When you leave tonight, there will be our little dancers by the doors with baskets. They will hold all the slips of papers where each of you wrote down earlier with what ‘love’ means to you. We ask that you take a slip of paper—just one. We hope that by you reading what, or whom, another person loves, we might look at the world a little differently. Maybe a little softer.”

“As for the second slips of paper, we want to say thank you. They have been torn up and we used their ugliness to create something better—something beautiful. We hope that this will be a stepping stone into forgiving whatever wrong has happened to you. Whatever ill words or bad situation is haunting you, we hope that carrying around a bit of love may help remind you that you are not alone. And always, may love forever win.”

Kevin’s face remains emotionless as he stays looking at the paper, slowly folding it back up, and then slowly ripping it into pieces. He holds his hands to the sides, looking out at the audience, and lets the pieces fall out of hands onto the stage. The pieces of paper flutter down to the ground, joining the other hundreds of shreds of paper scattered over the stage.

Meg hurries out on stage as the spotlight dims and the other lights brighten. Behind him, Castiel listens to the sound of feet shuffling as a basket of ripped up negative thoughts, comments, and broken dreams gets passed around. When the basket finally gets offered to him, he takes a handful of the shreds of paper without looking away from his two friends dancing.

As the lights go off and a single spotlight falls back on Kevin, he, along with a few of Rowena’s students, and the rest of his friends rush out into the darkness and lie down on their backs, letting their handfuls of paper scatter across the floor. The lights turn back on right as Castiel lays his head down. His body begins to move with the beat of the music as if he’s riding a bike.

When they finally push up onto their feet, Castiel finally has a chance to see where Dean ended up. He spies the spiked, messed up light brown hair a row in front of him, moving with all the elegance and passion he became captivated with all those months ago.

When the song finally falls into where they need to join their partner, Dean finds him first. Their hands join as Dean spins Castiel around before dipping him, then lightly grabbing him by the neck so they step forward in time with the beat. One last dip, grabbing around handful of paper off the ground, they both rise slowly. Dean’s unoccupied hand ghosts his side making Castiel’s body shiver. The lights dim until the only light left is a spotlight somewhere in the back shining out towards the audience.

Castiel feels the music building more than he hears it. As everyone who performed tonight walks on stage, someone throws a handful of paper in the air. Everyone follows seconds after, jumping and laughing, throwing their handfuls of hateful words into the air and letting it flutter down like confetti. Castiel looks down at Dean’s smiling face and cannot help the loud, happy laugh bubbling out. All the noise gets lost in the music. Around him his friends, family, and coworkers are dancing, spinning, laughing, and tossing up paper in the air, simply high on the moment. The sheer happiness has him feeling giddy.

An arm slips around his waist and Castiel lets himself be pulled against Dean’s chest easily. They both smile into the kiss, laughing when someone accidentally bumps into them and they stumble a few steps before getting their footing again. Dean will forever look the most beautiful laughing, his handsome face flushed with the lightest pink from dancing, making his handful of freckles stand out. As Dean turns his face back to Castiel’s, he watches as Dean’s deep green eyes crinkle on the sides showing more him how happy the man truly is. Castiel leans closely in, dipping his lips next to Dean’s ear, and whispers what he should have said weeks ago.

“I love you.”

Time doesn’t stop. The music doesn’t fade. The surprise of the confession lasts only a moment before Dean’s smile grows even brighter. Dean pulls them in close, lips brushing together in a quick chaste kiss, before Dean ducks his head to the side, and Castiel feels the man’s hot breath on his ear.

“Love you too, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/b9snGgsLBtE Recovery  
https://youtu.be/-CQPCD9OqJ0 Michael’s Tap Song  
https://youtu.be/dC2-X1Gk1Cw Castiel’s song for Love  
https://youtu.be/z9HF_oF4ZiE Meg’s tap song  
https://youtu.be/7cAbmaBHIFU Balthazar’s three person tango  
https://youtu.be/3ZfpxGZQmRA Castiel and Meg’s dance  
https://youtu.be/VodvHIuV-8o Bartholmew and Anna’s song  
https://youtu.be/A90mGqdilqM Samandriel and Jo’s song  
https://youtu.be/rsaFIrlR94w Castiel and Dean’s song  
https://youtu.be/-KTLgdTkQNs Kevin’s song and dance dedicated to Love


	16. Epilogue

They say that love is a battlefield. Castiel may be a late bloomer, but he knows enough of love to know that this is not true. Not entirely.

Love is most definitely patient, he will give whoever said that their dues. There are some days when Dean hasn’t picked up his wet towel off the bathroom floor for the millionth time and he swears he’s going to tie him to the bed and leave him there. There are other days when they fight about music because, honestly, Dean has truly awful tastes, sometimes. There are nights when they argue over Castiel staying too late at the studio or Dean drinking too much at home. There are even days where he and Dean fight about trying to find another bar to drink at so Dean can actually leave the building. Those fights are usually the worst.

Bottom line is, he wouldn’t give up any of those arguments for what he has found and feels with Dean. 

Love, Castiel has learned, is sitting beside your significant other as you are forced to watch another terrible eighties movie (Dean swears he just has to see), and loving it regardless just because of the way Dean’s face lights up after it’s over and asking if he liked it. It is watching his partner mouth the words to every Indiana Jones movie and actually feeling a little bit jealous at the looks Dean gives the fictional character. It is running his fingers through Dean’s short hair as they drift off to sleep in bed late at night. It’s listening to music at one o’clock in the morning, twirling in drunken circles laughing until it’s hard to breathe and collapsing on top of each other, blissfully happy. It’s being crammed into a small booth at a new bar some four blocks down from the studio with all their friends. It’s watching the way Dean’s eyes crinkle in an honest to God laugh over something someone said, not looking the least be afraid or uncomfortable to be inside another bar.

But for the most part, love is everything he hadn’t known he was missing until Dean danced his way into his life. The good and the bad, the rough and the smooth, Castiel wouldn’t change a damn thing. Love is taking each other for everything that they are, flaws included, and accepting it. Even loving that messy part of them. 

Half the thrill of being in love, Castiel’s found, is the dance getting there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is a wrap, loves.
> 
> If you need me, I will be under a mountain of blankets hiding from the world. It has been both thrilling and terrifying finishing this story. Posting it was almost a nightmare because apparently my finger didn't want to press down on the button, heh. I hope you all enjoyed it, and hopefully y'all will stay tuned for my next story. Who loves vampires? ^_~
> 
> Kudos and comments give me a high!  
Smash that button, loves!


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